


30 Days of Bucky/Rhodey

by platonicharmonics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 99,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicharmonics/pseuds/platonicharmonics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 different tropes thrown at Bucky Barnes and Rhodey Rhodes to see what sticks (with guest appearances by their nerd friends).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 - Coffee Shop AU

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here it is. This is actually my first fanfiction that I've ever released into fandom and not hoarded on my hard drive, so this has been one massive learning experience. The "challenge" part really isn't kidding. All I can do is write things that make me happy and that I'm (hopefully) proud of, and share it with all of you so that you may enjoy it.
> 
> Also, keep in mind that these prompts are in no way tied or bound together. Feel free to skip around the chapter drop box and read whatever trope tickles your fancy!

Rhodey did _not_ have the time for this.

“No, absolutely not, I'm not going, you can't make me, Tony-”

“Oh come on,” Tony begged, “it's finals season, everybody's stressed out, a party's the perfect thing to cut loose! What have we got to worry about, anyway? We're geniuses – goddamn child prodiges-”

Rhodey clenched his jaw as he shuffled his phone, his book-bag, and his wallet as he slowly ambled closer to the counter. Having Tony Stark as a best friend did not lead to long sleep-filled nights, or studying, or anything remotely healthy or productive, even though Rhodey tried – so hard – to make him a responsible adult. No, instead, Tony had him up until four o'clock in the morning last night talking about _robot armies_ when Rhodey's most important final was tomorrow. That's why Rhodey was in this cutesy, family-owned, quiet little coffee shop, so he could have a giant latte and tuck himself in a corner to bunker down and study in peace to the smell of caffeine and gentle chatter.

“Just because we graduated high school two years early doesn't mean we don't have to study, Tony,” Rhodey sighed, shifting from foot to foot. “Knowledge doesn't just come to you, even in _your_ case.”

“Yeah, but I can't _study_ if I'm all wound up, which is why I-”

“Procrastinate?” Rhodey prompted.

“You shut your mouth,” Tony snipped.

“Will you at least consider joining me down here? I know that coffee practically flows through your veins-”

“I don't go to coffee shops because I'm not a damn hipster. Just take an instagram of your espresso butternut-squash macchiato and message me.”

Rhodey let out a pained sigh and rubbed at his eyes with his wrist. “Just – try, okay? Try to study tonight. Can you do that for me, Tony?”

“Can you come to the party for _me_ -?”

“ _No._ ”

A flippant sigh came from the other end. “I'll study only if you're still awake by nine so you can hold my hand.” Rhodey groaned. “Deal?”

“Fine,” he lamented.

“See you then, Rhodey-bear!” Tony chirped, and hung up. Rhodey grimaced and slipped his phone back into his pocket, then finally looked up to the barista. The guy was staring at him with a tight-lipped smile and his eyes all crinkled, arms crossed.

Rhodey's mouth twitched. “Sorry about that.”

The guy shrugged, then gave him a blinding grin. “Eh, at least it was entertaining.” He leaned forward. “What can I get for ya?”

Rhodey leaned back on his heels to get a look at the menu. The guy noticed; he straightened and let his hands fall to the counter to say, “Our special today is the cinnamon latte.”

Rhodey wasn't feeling picky. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

“I'll get that right to ya,” the guy nodded, then started busying himself around. As he worked, Rhodey took a quiet moment to take him in. The guy was pale, brunette, tall, toned, and handsome; clean-shaven, smelled nice; besides the tight coffee shop-name T-shirt he was wearing, he was in some pretty complimentary skinny jeans; his head was half-buzzed and his hair was swept to the side and he was almost one-hundred-percent sure the guy was wearing eyeliner. A part of Rhodey's mind quietly told him not to assume pronouns.

The g- barista came back over with his latte and rung him up. Rhodey gave his thanks, then eyed the barista's name-tag. 'Bucky.'

Huh. There was a story there, but he wasn't about to chat up some barista with a line forming behind him. Instead, Rhodey gave the best smile he could manage in gratitude and retreated to the booth in the corner.

–

When Rhodey came into consciousness, it was to a sharp tapping on his shoulder. Vaguely, he could make out the smell of coffee and the warmth of his lap-top beneath his cheek. “Ton', 'thought I told you not t'let me fall 'sleep.”

“I'm afraid I'm not your friend, pal.”

That woke him up. He jerked his head up and blinked warily, taking in his surroundings. His things were spread out across the booth's table, there were several empty cups of coffee, the sky was getting dark in the coffee-shop windows, the shop itself was empty and silent, and the barista that served him his coffee – Bucky, he thought – was standing over him with a jacket over the uniform and a cheeky grin.

“Oh, god, what time is it?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“It's seven-thirty, so it's not that bad. But we _are_ going to close in half an hour, and you fell asleep before six, so I'm assuming you haven't eaten anything for supper.” To emphasize the point, the barista held up a brown paper bag.

Rhodey leaned back into the cushion. “Yeah, no, I didn't,” he sighed. “Wouldn't be the first time I missed dinner,” he muttered, as an after-thought.

“I got four tuna sandwiches in here, just so you know,” the barista informed him, gently shaking the bag. “I can split them with you if you're in a hurry; it's on the house.”

Rhodey squinted. “Aren't you still working?”

The barista shrugged. “Technically my shift ends when the front door's locked, but nobody's come in here after seven for two years, and when things get empty Mrs. Rogers lets me get off early.” The barista's head nodded towards his laptop and papers. “If you come in here wearing a polo-shirt and a Rolex and fall asleep while studying, I'm gonna assume that you're kind of desperate. So I thought I'd offer you a free dinner, since I didn't wake you up earlier.”

Rhodey scrubbed his hand down his face and considered. _Well_ , he thought, _the sandwiches are free. They're probably not poisoned. And this means I don't have to get take-out for the upteenth time or eat my billionth pizza with Tony._

“Sure,” he said warily. The barista perked up, then fished out the two sandwiches and handed them over. Rhodey accepted them graciously.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead,” Rhodey shrugged. Some non-Tony company would be a nice change of pace, even if it was with a random barista in a sleepy coffee shop eating tuna sandwiches at 7:30 in the evening.

The barista sat down across from him, dumped out the other two sandwiches, and began unwrapping them with gusto.

“My name's Rhodey, in case you're wondering,” Rhodey volunteered; he thought it'd be polite.

The barista quirked an eyebrow. “Huh. Nice. Mine's Bucky.”

Rhodey took a bite of sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he ventured, “Hey, if you don't mind me asking, what are your preferred pronouns?”

Bucky paused in the middle of chewing to stare at him. Swallow. Blink. A wide grin. “Man, you have no idea – I'm a cis guy, male pronouns and all that, but I know someone who would _love_ you!”

“Oh?” Rhodey chuckled, before taking another bite.

“Yeah – my best friend, his name's Steve, he's this scrappy little punk, taking courses in gender studies and all that jazz; he's always complaining to me about how wrong and uneducated the professor is. He goes on and on about how people who don't care about people's identities are no better than bullies. He never shuts up.”

Rhodey could relate to that, except _his_ best friend never shuts up about robots and how Jaegars are a completely viable means of national defense. He regrets ever taking him to see that movie. “Sounds like a good guy. I have a passionate best friend, too, only he's passionate about robots and giant fighting mechas.”

Bucky chuckled. “The guy on the phone?”

“The guy on the phone.”

“I'd like to meet him.”

“No, you really, really wouldn't.”

Bucky finished swallowing to give him a look. “I'll take your word for it.”

They continued on for a little while, talking about Rhodey's degree and plans for the Air Force, and Bucky's interest in theater, until it was almost eight o'clock and the sandwiches were done.

“Thanks for the meal and the talk,” Rhodey said, gathering his things back into his book-bag while Bucky cleaned up the trash.

“You got a nap, some food, and a break from cramming; pass your test and my charity will be worth it,” he replied, before throwing the brown paper-bag in the trash.

“Oh, don't worry, it will be,” Rhodey eased with a grin. He paused before he got to the front door, then turned around. “Hey, you wanna talk again some time? Maybe trade numbers?”

Bucky's eyebrows rose; very quickly, his eyes flicked back to the Rolex before returning to meet his eyes. “Uh, yeah, sure.” They fished out their phones, put each other in the other's contacts, then said their goodbyes. Bucky locked up behind him, with one last smile.

As Rhodey started walking down the street, he pondered the warm, thrumming feeling in his chest.


	2. Day 2 - Idol/Fan

The Avengers have changed a lot since the Battle of New York.

Sometimes, they find it difficult to recall the time when they felt ill-at-ease with each other; a bunch of powerhouses with different interests and personalities thrown together and told to solve a demi-god-sized problem. They were a ticking-time-bomb turned well-oiled-machine, now. Each member has changed drastically due to their own hardships since their first battle, and after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., their members grew to include Sam Wilson (codename Falcon) and Colonel Rhodes (codename Iron Patriot).

There was teamwork, there was trust, and there was camaraderie between them, which meant they slowly became more and more involved in each other's personal lives. This was how the day came along when Steve felt like it would be a good idea to bring Bucky to the Tower.

He knew Steve, Sam, and Natasha already, of course – they were huge and valued parts of his recovery – and the rest he heard of from Steve's stories, the news, or... other sources.

The Avengers were strewn all across the Tower doing all sorts of things, of course, because lining up to introduce themselves like Barnes was the President didn't sit well with any of them, and Steve told them all to “act natural” anyway.

He met Clint and Thor first, who had been previously engaged in a violent game of tennis on Wii Sports; Thor gladly walked over while Clint gasped for air on the floor, and exclaimed, “Ah, so this must be the esteemed James Barnes!” before holding out a big hand. Bucky grinned up at him with vague amusement, then carefully extended his metal arm to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you, call me Bucky,” he said shortly; Clint had ambled up since then, and Bucky turned to him with a brilliant smile. “Clint Barton, right? Natasha's told me many things about you.”

Clint wiped the sweat from his brow and chuckled, “Only the good things, I hope.”

“Ha,” said Bucky. Clint slowly turned to frown over his shoulder at the woman in question, who had been perched on the couch, and who raised a delicate eyebrow in challenge. Steve laughed.

He met Bruce next, who was in the kitchen on Sam's floor, helping him make ice cream bread. They just popped it in the oven when Steve and Bucky came around the corner. Bruce removed his oven mitts and smiled while Sam leaned back on the counter. The two of them exchanged pleasant 'hello's, shook hands (Steve noted Bucky used his right arm this time), expressed interest in getting to know each other better, then said their farewells.

Tony and Rhodey were the last; both of them were in one of Tony's workshops, surrounded by a massive hologram that filled the room that seemed to depict a very large system of very complex circuits. When JARVIS announced their arrival and the doors slid open, Tony brought his hands together, which closed the hologram, then hopped up from his rolly-chair to make his way over to the new arrivals with the declaration, “Ah, Winter is coming!”

“You were waiting a long time to do that, weren't you?” Steve asked dryly; it mostly went ignored.

Bucky was looking at him with narrowed eyes as he said, “Tony Stark.”

“Yup, that's me.” Tony planted himself directly in front of him. “So, shall I call you Bucky, Mr. Winter, or Grandpa 2?” he prompted with a cocksure grin, then held out his left hand with a flourish.

Steve watched him carefully as he looked down at the extended hand, then back up to his face, then back down to his hand, then back up to his face with an exact mirror of his grin, and clasped his hand firmly with his metal one. He shook it firmly, twice, as he said, “Bucky's fine, thanks.” Tony's grin was incredibly taut by this point, and when Bucky let go, he gave a short nod before slinking off to the side, where he shook out his hand and hissed silently.

Steve stalked off to murmur lowly in Tony's ear as Rhodey slowly stepped up. Bucky looked away from Steve to look at him, then slowly straightened; the grin left his face and his eyes widened.

“He's like that with everyone, in case you were wondering,” Rhodey volunteered. They glanced towards where their respective friends were; Tony was giving Steve a very large pout while the man inspected his hand. Apparently, nothing was wrong, because Steve threw his hand back to him and wagged his finger, which Tony smacked away. Bucky looked back to Rhodey's polite smile and narrow eyes.

“I'm Colonel James Rhodes; it's nice to finally meet you,” he said amiably. He did not move out of parade rest.

Bucky gave a slow nod. “James Barnes,” he said quietly. “You're War Machine.”

Rhodey's polite smile turned genuine, and he visibly relaxed. “Technically, I'm Iron Patriot now, because it tested better with focus groups, but yeah.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders. He was still wide-eyed. “Your record is impressive.”

“Thank you,” Rhodey said warmly. “So is yours.”

For the first time, Bucky looked him directly in his eyes; he seemed to be searching for something. Rhodey stayed still, except for a slight inclination of his head. They stared at each other for a short while, until apparently Bucky found what he was looking for. He gave a very small smile, which Rhodey returned.

“You can call me Rhodey,” he said.

“As long as you call me Bucky,” Bucky replied. They smiled at each other a bit more, before Bucky finally said, “I... guess we'll be going now. It was nice meeting you.”

“Same to you.” They looked back over to Tony and Steve, who were watching them silently and leaning up against the wall with matching raised eyebrows. Bucky immediately began walking towards the doors and gave Steve a Look. Steve grinned and followed.

–

When they were back in the elevator heading back down to the lobby, Steve couldn't help but notice the change in Bucky's demeanor; for one, he had a dreamy, far-off look; two, he was grinning like a loon; and three, he was – barely noticeable, but still – _bouncing_.

“What's got into _you_?” he prompted with a chuckle.

Bucky stopped bouncing and turned to look at him. “Steve,” he huffed, as if it was obvious, “he was – he was _War Machine_.”

“I didn't know you were that interested in War Machine,” Steve said, a little dubious.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged, and looked away.

Steve continued to stare at him. “I haven't seen you this smitten since Naomi Mayer when you were seventeen.”

“I'm not _smitten_ ,” Bucky grouched. “I just _appreciate_ the man's abilities. He's a legend.”

“I'm sure his looks and charming personality have nothing to with it,” Steve commented absently, looking entirely innocent.

Bucky took just a second too long to say, “Shut up.”

–

Tony plopped down into his rolly chair and rolled over to his best friend to poke him in his knee with his foot. “So.”

Rhodey slowly pulled out of his reverie from where he had been leaning up against a worktable. He looked down at Tony and crossed his arms. “So?”

Tony batted his eyes. “Whatcha _think_ in'?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but admitted, “ _Bucky Barnes_ was just in here.”

“So?” Tony prompted.

“ _So_ ,” Rhodey huffed, “one of the Howling Commandos coming back from the dead was wild enough, I read about the guy in a history book in school, my dad had an old Bucky Bear that he kept in the attic, the Winter Soldier was supposed to be an urban legend I'd only hear about when I visited Intelligence, and I just got done staring him in the face.” After a beat, Rhodey added, “Plus, the guy's recovering from seventy years of psychological conditioning.” He looked away and sighed. “Kind of makes you think about things, is all.”

Tony's face twisted, and he quickly reached out to squeeze his knee. Rhodey gave him a quick smile.

In true Tony fashion, he continued, “Are you thinking about how much he _likes_ you?”

Rhodey quirked an eyebrow. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“He was totally giving you the love-struck doe eyes.” Rhodey made some kind of dismissing huffing noise. “It's true!”

“Pretty sure it wasn't because he was love-struck, Tony.”

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

“He _liiiiikes youuuuu_ ,” Tony cooed, before Rhodey shoved him away to roll across the room with his foot.


	3. Day 3 - Anonymous Love Letters

Bucky keeps finding sticky-notes on his things and he has no idea where they come from. The last four that he found read:

_You are incredible._

_Your beauty on the battle-field knows no match._

_You make me laugh and leave me breathless._

_You are more loved than you know._

His immediate knee-jerk reaction is to think that Steve has been leaving them around to try and cheer him up, but if he didn't know what the man's handwriting looked like by now he would've been ashamed of himself. So, he went with his next logical conclusion.

“Sam?” he called, walking out of the elevator and onto his floor of the Tower. He heard the sound of a movie playing in the distance, and immediately went in the direction of the entertainment center. There he found Sam and Steve lounging on the couch, ankles entwined, while they watched a film involving men in chain-mail skip around while other men banged coconuts behind them. Sam paused the movie when he appeared in the doorway and they both turned around to look at him expectantly. “Sam? Can I talk to you a moment? Alone?”

Sam and Steve exchanged a glance before they straightened themselves up; Sam stood and came around the couch, then followed Bucky across the floor and into the spare bedroom, where he shut the door behind them. “What's this about?” he prompted, curious.

“Do you know anything about these?” Bucky urged, pulling the four notes out of his jean pocket and handing them to him. Sam took them and read through them. “If this is some kind of... positivity thing that you're doing...”

Sam read through the last one, looked up, and started to laugh. “Man, I have no idea about these. I didn't do anything. But it looks like you got yourself an _admirer_.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and snatched the notes back, then looked down at them with a frustrated sigh. “I don't know why they're doing this.”

Sam sobered up immediately. “Do you not like them leaving those? Look, Bucky, if these make you uncomfortable, I can help you put a stop to-”

“ _No!_ ” Bucky blurted. Sam paused. “No,” he repeated; “I- I like them, I mean, they're nice, but- I want to know _who_ _wrote them_.”

Sam grinned again. “That kind of goes against the point of anonymous love notes, y'know.”

Bucky pulled a face. “Who leaves _anonymous love notes_ but an _asshole_?” Sam busted out laughing.

After he got the giggles down, he said, “Well, they could be shy. Or they might think it's unreciprocated. Or they may think you'd react badly if you knew who they were.”

“Oh god,” Bucky deadpanned. “It's not Stark, is it?”

“Noooo,” Sam chuckled. Bucky grinned. “Whoever it is, though,” Sam continued gently, turning serious again, “I'm happy that you have something that's making you smile. You don't do that a lot, lately.” He squeezed his right elbow.

Bucky stiffened and murmured, “I'm fine,” before stuffing the notes back into his pocket. The look Sam was giving him told him that he didn't believe that for a second.

“You know that if you want to talk,” Sam said softly, “about anything – we're all here for you, right?”

Bucky opened the door and looked over his shoulder. “I know,” he sighed.

“You sure you don't wanna join me and Steve to watch Monty Python? We have popcorn,” Sam tempted.

“No,” Bucky said; then, “Thanks.” And he left for the elevator.

That night, after a shared supper, Steve tried to get him to talk. “So what did you and Sam talk about earlier, if you don't mind me asking?” he prompted, leaning back against the dish-washer and smiling.

“I've been getting notes,” Bucky explained, then shoved the notes in question into his hand. Steve looked at him in concern, then looked down to read them. Each one made his eyebrows raise higher than the last, until, after the fourth one, they were almost in his hairline.

“Where have you been finding these?” he asked, slightly shocked, handing them back.

“The first I found slipped into my equipment locker in the armory, the second was stuck to my rifle, the third one inside that book I've been reading, and the last one I found on top of my throwing knives.”

Steve remained silent for a long moment, staring into the distance, before he finally went, “Huh.”

Bucky leaned against the counter beside him and crossed his arms. “What 'huh?'”

Steve blinked, then slowly a warm smile grew on his face. He looked over at Bucky, expression all open affection, then knocked their shoulders together and said, “It's all kind of cute, is all.”

Bucky huffed. “Cute?”

“Here you are almost a hundred years old and still getting secret admirers,” Steve giggled.

Bucky rolled his eyes to the high heavens and knocked their shoulders together, harder, and grumbled, “You're in the same boat, you old prune.”

“You're still the oldest,” Steve countered, and dodged Bucky's elbow.

Bucky spent that night sitting on his bed, hugging himself, staring at the notes for hours, fighting off sleep, before his eyes drifted shut and he fell into a dreamless slumber.

–

The thing about recovery is that it's never as easy as a straight incline.

Most days he struggles to find the energy to even make an effort to do... anything. He declines everyone's invitations to spend time with him because the last time they all had a movie night he disassociated for four hours. On bad days, he can't find the energy to even talk, and then he feels ashamed because The Asset did not speak. One night, when he was in an especially bad head-space, he couldn't even get out of bed the next morning. Steve frets himself sick and Sam will drop everything to try and help him through whatever it is he experiences that day, and that makes him feel like a burden. Natasha once spent six hours sitting with him in silence, just letting herself be there, and when he finally looked at her and put a hand on her arm-rest, she covered it with her own and murmured, “Я знаю.”

He didn't deserve any of them.

The only exception to his lethargy is when they're all called on for a mission, and when he puts on his uniform and arms himself, he's terrified of himself from the moment he starts tying his boot-laces to the moment he takes them off. Fighting now turns his head into some horrible fusion of Sergeant Barnes and the Winter Soldier; sometimes his head is too clear, and afterwards he worries that his programming is reassembling itself; sometimes his head is too hectic, and a cold part of himself scolds him for not being efficient enough. One time Thor overloaded the transponders in the street to where they sparked and crackled with electricity, and they found him on the ground, hyperventilating and crying, waiting for a pain that wouldn't come. Rhodey had to coach him into grounding himself in his present surroundings. Thor wouldn't look him in the eyes for two days.

The memories were another thing altogether. There would be times when he'd hear a snippet of a melody, or smell the faintest scent, or look at light glint off of something in just the right way, and he'd remember something. Sometimes it was Steve's laugh ringing through the air, sometimes it was the smell of his clothes when they hugged, or his little private smile reserved only for him when he worked his hands raw to get him art supplies or medicine; sometimes it was the image of his mother saying 'I love you' even though he could not recall her voice, sometimes it was the smell and sounds of the Navy yard, sometimes it was the synchronized stomping and swelling music of the dance halls. Other times it was the sound of his own screams like they were far away, or how _their_ breath puffed across his neck when they hissed chastisement or sick praise in his ear, or exactly how the _chair_ smelled and felt on his bare skin; sometimes it was the sobbing a target made when he was about to kill them, or how his metal arm feels gore from a concaved skull, or a child's scream.

He honestly wondered how anyone could possibly love him.

Of course, he found another love-note; this time it was taped onto his bullet-proof vest. Taped, because it wasn't a sticky note. It was a whole folded piece of paper. Warily, he took the note off of his vest and opened it.

_I find myself struggling to put into words exactly how I feel about you, but there are things that need to be said, so I intend to say them._

_First, I want to communicate how valued you are to me. To all of us. And not just in terms of how well you do in the field. I remember when Tony's suit was compromised and some of it got embedded in his leg, and you picked him up and ran a whole mile to get him medical attention. I remember when that domestic-terrorist took a preschool hostage, and you somehow killed the lights, took the shot, nailed him, and then got all of the kids out of the room so they wouldn't have to see. I remember when we raided that housing complex and discovered a human trafficking ring, and when we busted down the door the people down there chained to the wall just started screaming and crying, completely terrified of us. You immediately laid down your weapons, sat on the floor, and talked to them in their own language until they calmed down. One even grabbed you, and you just held them and let them cry into your shirt until the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived._

_Second, I want to communicate how inspiring you are to me. Just look at how far you've come. The strength that it takes to go back into the field and fight to save people, to take care of yourself, to get up in the morning, to keep going – is astronomical. And I – all of us – are so proud of you._

_From soldier to soldier, I know it's hard. I know it's hard seeing the things that we see. But you haven't given up. You never quit. And you need to know how important that is._

_Third, I know that it's usually the bad days that stay with you and not the good ones, so I thought I'd remind you of them. I remember when you and Bruce made that massive cake, and you two walked out of the kitchen covered in flour with this look on your faces, and when we saw you two we all started laughing. I remember when we all played Twister that one night and it all came down to you and Natasha, and you were trash-talking each other in Russian until you both collapsed. I remember that night when we were all feeling low after a particularly long day, and you walked into the room with your metal arm covered in fridge magnets, and you acted like nothing was out of the ordinary until all of us noticed and started giggling._

_You are valued. You are loved. You are worth it. And I am so glad that you are here._

Bucky carefully folded the letter back up, sat down in the nearest chair, clasped his hands with the letter nestled between them, rested his head in them, and let himself cry.

–

He didn't know how long he stayed there, but when he heard footsteps coming into the armory he sat up and wiped at his cheeks. When he looked at the doorway, Rhodey appeared. He paused when he saw him; he looked at his face (probably still tear-stained), then down at the letter, then looked... understanding.

Slowly, Rhodey made his way to the other metal-chair and dragged it over. When he deemed it close enough, he sat down, then folded his hands between his knees, and waited.

Bucky continued to clutch the letter. He swallowed. “You know anything about this?” he asked, quietly.

Rhodey gave a small smile. “Yes.”

Bucky lifted the letter in indication. “You?”

Rhodey waited a moment before he nodded. “Yes. And I meant every single word.”

Bucky licked his lips, then looked away, and ran his right hand through his hair. When he looked back up, he asked, “Why?”

“Why do I mean it, or why did I leave the letters?”

“Both.”

Rhodey leaned back. “I started leaving the notes when you started pushing us away. I don't know if you've noticed, but all of us have gotten really worried about you. As for why I mean it, well...” he leaned back forward and took a deep breath. “It's true that you make me smile and laugh. I think you're smart and funny and competent and kind. And... after having each other's backs in as many battles as we have, you're pretty dear to me.”

Bucky suddenly replayed every smile the man ever gave him, every laugh, every pat and squeeze and friendly hand. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest when he looked back up. A smile twitched onto his face. “You're pretty dear to me, too, y'know.”

Rhodey's smile turned into a grin. “Oh?”

Instead of replying, Bucky slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to his, closed and soft yet firm. Rhodey hesitated for a second, two seconds, and just when Bucky began pulling away he kissed back. They closed their eyes and enjoyed the sensation for a bit before pulling away to grin at each other like a couple of fools.

It wasn't going to get any easier. There was no way to fix anything. There would still be bad days to go with the good days. But Bucky let himself join the others again; he let himself smile, and laugh, and he tried to let himself be loved by those who loved him.


	4. Day 4 - Angel/Demon AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Archive warning tag finally kicks into effect with this one.

The Winter Walker was rumored to be the strongest of the Knights of Hell, if the demon existed at all. No angel had ever encountered it, and no human lived to tell the tale. The beast was known for walking the Earth and sowing chaos among the lands of humankind, inciting wars, toppling regimes, and ensuring that evildoers remained in power. Between each act, the demon would disappear and be silent for centuries before killing again.

The time was approaching for that window to expire, however, so Heaven sent one of their finest warriors, a Power by the name of Rhodiel, down to Earth to intercept and slay the beast.

Rhodiel remained on a silent vigil for two years, until he felt a disturbance in Russia.

By the time he landed it was too late; every human in the house was butchered in their beds. There was movement outside, however – he rushed out into the yard and saw a shadow phase through the fence. He gave chase; the shadow was incredibly fast, and incredibly agile. He ran it down for hours, out of the city and into the countryside, yet it always eluded him and remained a flicker in the distance.

When they entered a forest, it was as if the demon disappeared; he stopped and froze, body taut and six wings still flared, listening and sensing. That was when the throwing knife flew out of the shadows; he barely deflected it with his gauntlet before the demon flanked him.

The demon was lightly armored in leather and armed with a dagger while he was garbed in Heaven's finest heavy plate and armed with a sword. What the demon lacked in protection it made up for in speed, and what Rhodiel lacked in maneuverability he made up for in reach.

He stabbed forward and the demon ducked; when it launched itself towards him he turned to the side and brought his pommel down. The demon caught his wrist and used it as leverage to leap up and kick him in his sternum; the breast-plate absorbed the impact, but he lost his balance and stumbled. The demon rolled then launched itself at him again. Rhodiel blocked the charge with the broad-side of his sword, which the demon wrapped its hands around and used to shove him backwards towards a tree. Rhodiel swept a leg under it, forcing it to jump; he used the opportunity of when it lost its grounding to twist out of its hold and wrench his sword from its hands. It simply flipped its dagger to a different grip and came at him again.

Rhodiel had seen his fair share of demons since his creation, and he knew that most of them looked like burned, emaciated corpses. This demon looked nothing like that. For one, it had wings; the right was large and covered in sickly, faded feathers that he thought must have once been a rich rust color – the left was completely skeletal, as if each feather was plucked from it. He could not get a clear look at its face, but he could make out that it had a head of long, matted hair.

This time he went on the offensive. He turned the broadside of his sword toward the demon and charged; the demon tried to roll behind him, but he spun around and stabbed downwards. The demon arched its spine out of the sword's reach and rolled again to regain its balance. Rhodiel pulled his sword out of the ground and slashed. The demon leapt backwards again, then darted in before he could recover from the swing; it launched itself upon him and violently stabbed upwards with the dagger towards the soft area of his throat. He brought his free hand up just in time to let the gauntlet absorb the killing blow, and the demon brought the dagger back again to thrust into his eye. Instead, Rhodiel threw them upon the ground and let himself fall upon the dagger to where it wedged within his shoulder plate. He pinned the demon down with one hand around its throat and swiftly moved his sword to sever its head.

He froze, however, because he had looked upon its face. Its face was incredibly gaunt and sallow, its eyes were a solid hazy white, and... its mouth was sewn shut. Its hair fanned out around its head like a mockery of a halo, and it was staring at him with wide eyes as it struggled. Its wings fanned out across the ground, flapping violently. With a pang of shock and horror, he realized that this was no demon.

Near the dawn of time, there was a many-headed leviathan named Hydra that whispered into the hearts and minds of the Earth, turning humankind to the ways of hatred, murder, enslavement, and genocide. God had sent seven angels – Stevael, Buchanael, Moritael, Jonael, Duganiel, Montael, and Derniel – to slay the beast. Between them all, they severed all of its heads and cast the body into Hell, but not before the last head devoured Buchanael. They had all thought him dead, yet here he could see the full face of the Power, the blue eyes and the brilliant rust-covered wings, the fine brunette hair and the laughing mouth.

“Buchanael?” he breathed.

His hesitation was too long. Buchanael had abandoned the dagger and instead reached past his shoulders to grab hold of two of his wings. Rhodiel only had time to tense before he snapped the bones and _twisted_.

The agony was all-encompassing, and his scream sent the birds flying out of the canopies. Buchanael twisted out from beneath his blade and used his legs to kick him off to land on his broken wings, snapping them further. When Rhodiel finally blinked out of his haze of blinding white pain, the fallen angel was gone.


	5. Day 5 - Bartender AU

“Okay, so get this,” Tony said, giddy, folding his hands in front of his face and rocking up onto his tip-toes.

Rhodey, knowing full-well what all of Tony's body-language means by now, narrowed his eyes in suspicion and wariness.

“Don't look at me like that, I haven't even said anything yet!” Tony huffed, falling back on his heels.

Rhodey crossed his arms. “I'm listening.”

“Okay! So. The new episode of Game of Thrones is airing tonight, and I found out that there's a tavern in town that does a group showing! All we have to do is turn up!”

Rhodey grimaced. “You're the youngest CEO of any corporation ever and you want to go to a public tavern to watch a gory TV show.”

Tony rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “We'll be wearing _disguises_.” Rhodey rose one eyebrow. Tony scrunched up his face. “I'm going _with or without you_ , you know,” he sing-songed. Rhodey made a clawing motion in the air with his hand and looked away in his frustration until it slumped back to his side.

“ _One time_ ,” Rhodey said, voice low with warning. Tony fist-pumped the air with a _whoop_ and darted for the walk-in closet.

–

In the end, they showed up to the tavern with Tony looking like an impoverished frat boy in a ketchup-stained hoodie and a beanie and him looking like a complete nerd. Complete with glasses. And suspenders. _Suspenders_.

“I don't know whether to be complimented because you think this is the opposite of my normal style or pissed off because you made me wear this,” he hissed into Tony's ear. Tony made a face at him, but otherwise paused and waited for him to open the door.

On the door was a flyer that said _“GoT watch tonight: 'The Mountain and the Viper'! Consult yer ale for grief counseling.”_ Rhodey was amused by the fine print at the bottom that read: _“The Howling Commando does not advise you to treat prolonged feelings of depression with alcohol, and encourages you to seek proper help from therapy resources. Please drink responsibly.”_

Rhodey pulled open the door and made a gentlemen-ly gesture at Tony for him to go inside, which he blatantly ignored. Rhodey rolled his eyes and trailed after him into the dim, warm-toned tavern full of thrumming people that twittered away at each other as the time came closer for the episode to air. All of the tables were filled by various groups of people, and the bar stools were almost the same; there were only two left open, separating a very small blond guy and a dickish looking dude with gelled dark hair and predatory brown eyes. Tony leaped and bounded for the stool by the tiny blond guy. Rhodey was stuck sitting next to Douchebag McDoucheface, who gave him a nasty glare when he sat down. Rhodey took off his glasses and gave him his coldest stare because he was _not_ doing this shit tonight. “We going to have a problem?”

Douchebag looked him up and down like he was a slab of poorly prepared meat. “Nah,” he sneered, then picked up his whiskey and moved to the other side of the room. The bartender appeared a heartbeat later.

“Is that man causing you trouble, sir?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“I'd really just like to buy a drink, thanks,” Rhodey said, his voice strained. He was strung-up enough as it was worrying about someone recognizing Tony, and running into some racist bastard just made it worse, and then he had the knowledge that he was going to have to watch people get stabbed for an hour, and Tony was guaranteed to get wasted, and not only would he have to deal with his drunken antics but he'd also have to deal with his hanged-over moodiness the next morning. All of it put together put him in a rather dour mood. He looked back up at the bartender – a clean-shaven, finely-combed brunette who looked like a cross between pissed off and sympathetic – and said, “Give me a brandy.”

The bartender gave him a curt nod, then looked at Tony, who had by now locked onto his mood and was skittering his fingertips across his knee to convey his concern. “Tequila, thanks,” he said, then flashed the bartender a radiant smile. All he got was a blink before the guy left to go fetch them their drinks. As soon as he was gone, Tony leaned over and said, “What's got you all riled-up, Rhodey-bun? Was it that dickwad?”

“I'm just feeling a little stressed right now, is all,” Rhodey said shortly.

“Well that's why God made alcohol,” Tony jested, then let it go.

When the bartender came back and set their drinks in front of them, he pointed to Rhodey's and said, “That one's on the house.”

Rhodey sat up in surprise. “No, no, that's not necessary.”

The bartender gave him a crooked smile and said, “Look, I know that sometimes the littlest thing can ruin a night. I don't like it when my customers aren't having fun, so your first drink's on the house.” He rapped his knuckles on the counter and then bustled off to the next customer who was hailing him.

The lights turned as dim as they would go and people started shushing each other as the episode began. Tony elbowed him in the side and gave him a huge ' _cheer up_ ' grin before they turned to watch the large TV behind the bar.

–

When the credits rolled, this was the state the tavern was in:

Many, many people were sitting full-back in their seats in horrified silence with their hands covering their mouths. Others were still making sounds of grief. One guy went, “What the fuck?” And a lady went, “Holy shit.”

Rhodey was sitting, rigid, making various choking noises. Tony was draped over Rhodey's shoulders, completely out of his stool and mostly supported by Rhodey's torso, making scratchy keening noises.

The bartender had dropped back to watch the episode with the little blond guy as soon as people quit asking for drinks, and had spent the duration sitting on the counter beside him. Now, the bartender was coiled around the little blond guy like a trembling snake, where he had watched the final scene peeking out around his hair with one hand covering the blond's eyes. The blond had donned a bitter, knowing smirk as soon as the Trial by Combat began, which only intensified when the fucked up shit started going down, and when the bartender clapped a hand over his eyes he clapped his own hands over his ears and waited it out until the credits.

“I'm not going to eat for three days,” Rhodey said in a monotone as Tony finally slid off of him and back into his seat to begin thousand-yard staring at the wall.

“I hate you, Steve. I hate you and I'm never speaking to you again,” the bartender huffed, extricating himself from around the man.

The little blond guy actually _laughed_. “Well, Buck, if you read the books, you wouldn't-”

“Don't you give me lip,” the bartender snipped, then left to go serve everyone calling for the hard stuff.

Tony turned to look at Steve. “You. Book-reader.”

Steve continued smirking and nodded. Tony downed the rest of the drink he'd been nursing and began asking frantic questions about the fate of various characters, which Steve dutifully shot down with variations of “Shouldn't you be _avoiding_ spoilers?” and “You should read the books.” Tony replied to each variation with variations of “But I _need_ to _know_ ” and “No I shouldn't.”

Rhodey tuned them out to nurse his own drink and focus on not throwing-up. Eventually, the bartender circled back around to him and smiled as he prompted Rhodey for a refill. Rhodey wordlessly pushed his glass towards him with a sigh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he joked, taking the glass.

“Hell no,” Rhodey chuckled, rubbing his temples.

The bartender soon came back with a full glass, threw his wash-cloth over his shoulder and rested against the counter. “You know, I don't remember ever seeing you two's faces in here. This your first time here?” Rhodey nodded as he sipped. The bartender chuckled. “You picked a hell of a night, pal.”

“Yup,” Rhodey said, resigning himself to bar small-talk.

The bartender seemed to consider something for a moment, looking carefully at Tony and then back to him, before asking, “Rebuff me if I'm out of line, but are you and... him...?”

Rhodey's insides went cold. The disguises weren't good enough. This guy was gonna recognize them and then he'd rally all the other guests around him and go to the press boasting that Tony Stark went to his tavern-

“You're out of line,” Rhodey forced out.

The bartender rose his hands placatingly. “Okay, sorry. Just thought you'd like to know this is a non-discriminating establishment.”

Rhodey blinked, then blinked again, processing. Then it hit him, just as the bartender was turning away. “You mean – like – _together_ together? Me and _him_?”

“Yeah,” the bartender said, with a perfectly neutral shrug.

Rhodey busted out into wheezy laughter. He wasn't even drunk yet. “Oh, lord, no.”

Tony paused his conversation with Steve to look at him over his shoulder and say, “You wound me, honey-bear. _Wound_ me.”

The bartender was smirking. “Okay, then.”

“What about you and...?” Rhodey prompted, tilting his head in Steve's direction. Fair's fair. He started it.

The bartender and Steve shared a look before going “ _Nooo_ ” in perfect unison.

Rhodey smirked. “Okay, then,” he mirrored. That got him a twinkly-eyed glare from the bartender before he moved off to serve the tables. Rhodey was well into his drink when he came back, smiling and leaning against the counter again. This time he noticed how long the guy's lashes were and how his bangs framed his eyes. The alcohol must've been doing its thing.

“So what's your name?” the bartender asked amiably.

Rhodey's mouth was already forming “Rho-” when his brain slammed on the breaks and he finished “-dney. Rodney.”

The bartender blinked. “All right. Everyone calls me Bucky.” He paused. “I like your suspenders.”

Rhodey looked down at his forgotten suspenders and snapped one with his thumb. Suspenders on top of a striped polo shirt. Lord help him. “Thanks,” he said dryly. Was this guy flirting with him? He thought he was flirting with him. He could dig flirting. “You look pretty buff in that shirt of yours.” Wow, Rhodey.

Bucky glanced down at his black T-shirt, which, admittedly, did hug his chest in the best of ways. “Thanks,” he chuckled, and beamed at him, and hey. Score. “You look pretty damn fine yourself.”

They were flirting. Hell yeah. He flexed his arm absently and said, “Well, yeah, you gotta be if you wanna be in the Air Force.”

Bucky grinned, eyes crinkling, and leaned forward to rest on his forearms on the counter. “So you're a _military man_ , eh?”

That's right, Rhodey, reel him in. “Yup, graduated ROTC at MIT.”

The bartender hummed in appreciation. “Your friend Air Force too?”

“Nope, he's an engineer.”

Bucky whistled. “You two are mighty impressive.”

Rhodey leaned in, now, and grinned. “So what about you and _your_ friend?”

Something shifted in Bucky's expression, something bitter, when he said, “Me? Bartender with an Associate's in theater arts. Steve's a graphic designer.”

Rhodey nodded sagely. “Well. Graphic design is good work. And you're a pretty nice bartender.” The bitterness was replaced with amusement again, and now something else shifted over his face, only this time it felt like... charmed? Charmed. It should be charmed.

Bucky looked at his now empty glass and seemed to consider something. “You and your friend walking home?”

“We took a cab,” Rhodey said, caught off-guard. “You always make sure people have safe rides home?”

“Must be part of what makes me a pretty nice bartender,” Bucky replied, batting his eyes, and oh, this guy. This _guy_.

“You single?” _Wow_ , Rhodey.

Bucky huffed a surprise laugh. “You know, technically, yeah. Are you?”

“Totally.”

But that was when another patron called him over, and Rhodey handed him his glass before he left. It took him a while to cover everyone, and a good amount of people were starting to file out. When he finally came back, he grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of his pocket, then jotted down his number.

“That,” Bucky said, sliding the napkin over and capping his pen, “is my number. Why don't you give me a call sometime?” He turned his smile up to maximum, and wow.

“You bet,” Rhodey said, giving his best smile in turn, and yeah, the guy looked charmed again. They were still looking at each other when Rhodey stood up. “It was nice talking to you. And this is a good place.”

“Same to you, thanks. And I better start prepping this place for closing. Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks.”

They nodded at each other, then turned, and both began saying, “Okay, Tony-” “-Steve-” “we better get-” at the same time when they both realized the stools were empty. They both straightened up and started looking around the tavern, half-frantically, and when neither saw their respective friend, they then said “Fuck” in perfect unison.


	6. Day 6 - Spin the Bottle

It all started with a friendly game of Spin the Bottle.

After a particularly brutal mission, Tony invited all of the Avengers to the Tower for a massive slumber party. There were pajamas, sleeping bags, blankets, movies, popcorn, alcohol, and – well. Somehow they all ended up playing a kissing game.

Rhodey hadn't played this game since his early days of college, but by the looks of Thor, Steve, and Bucky, they never played this game _ever_. The difference was how each of them handled it – Thor sat in vibrant excitement to experience a game of human party culture, Steve maintained a constant faint blush, and Bucky kept biting his lip and shifting awkwardly, as if he really didn't want to be there. He hid it well, admittedly, but still. It didn't feel right.

At least the bottle managed to miss Bucky every time it was spun, but then it was his turn – no escape. He grimaced at the bottle as if it personally insulted him, and his expression only softened a little when Natasha and Steve bumped his elbows from either side. He spun the bottle with a mighty flick from his left hand, and it spun – and spun – and spun – until it finally stopped on Rhodey.

Some of the others shouted out “Hey! James and James!” “It's James Squared!” in amusement and encouragement as they both sat up onto their knees to reach each other across the circle. Bucky still looked uncomfortable, and suddenly Rhodey had an all-consuming urge to get him to enjoy this. He decided to employ a technique that got Tony riled up enough to stop working and shower.

He smirked and said, “Now, don't worry, Barnes, I can go easy on you.”

That got a rise out of him. Bucky's eyes crinkled and he cocked his head in challenge. “Go _easy_ on me?” he said, lowly.

No time for hesitation. “Well, it's just that you probably haven't kissed anyone since – what – 1945?” The others made a loud _oooooh_ sound and somebody went, “Oh burn!” Steve and Natasha shared a Look and started giggling for unknown reasons. Tony clapped him on the back. The gauntlet was officially thrown down.

Bucky's jaw dropped slightly, then he looked furiously around the circle with a menacing glower. When he looked back at Rhodey, he lifted his chin and slowly smiled. “Shut up and kiss me, Rhodes,” he murmured, flipping his hair with Hollywood flare, then reeled him in by the nape of the neck and surged into a kiss so heated it belonged less in a party game and more in a romance movie. Rhodey quickly caught on to everything Bucky was trying to do, and gave back as good as he got. By this point, the others were making a low _whoaaaa_ sound and someone was whistling.

When they broke away, Bucky's hair was all mussed and Rhodey looked dazed. They grinned and chuckled at each other, then sat back into their spots.

He was going to make sure they did this more often.


	7. Day 7 - Stuck Someplace Together in Winter

Of all the places in the world for HYDRA to have a super-secret base for weapons manufacturing, they apparently decided that having an underground facility in the middle of the wildlife reserves of northern Yukon was their best bet. The worst thing was that the bastards were right.

They were mobilizing, preparing for something big, and the height of the activity was projected to take place in the middle of January. Bucky, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Clint, and Rhodey volunteered to raid the base, citing their conditioning training and stealth experience as validation. Tony, Thor, and Bruce respectfully bowed out.

By the time they reached their coordinates in one of Stark's stealth jets, in the middle of the night, the heat and energy signatures revealed something troubling. Natasha looked back from the cockpit into the body of the plane, where the others were sitting, restless. “They're evacuating,” she announced.

“What?” Steve demanded, sitting up.

“It means that they found out about our raid and are conducting a mass evacuation of the base and separating into units heading into different directions.”

Their expressions darkened at the thought that HYDRA had gotten close enough to them to get any wind of their plans, but they quickly shrugged it off. The mission had to be altered, and it had to be altered _now_. “How many units?” Steve prompted. His eyes were grave.

“Three, approximately a hundred each,” Natasha replied evenly.

Steve looked around and met all of their eyes, assessing; everyone except for Rhodey was dressed in white military grade snow-suits, hands covered in gloves and eyes protected by goggles for the sub-zero temperatures – good for long exposure, as long as none of them got wet. Rhodey was outfitted in the War Machine armor, which had internal heating. All of them were prepped and ready for a prolonged stealth operation, with survival tools and enough food rations in their packs to last them three days. Both Bucky and Clint had thermal scopes for their respective sniping weapons, and Sam's wings had been modified specifically for this operation.

“We're going to split up into three groups, and each group will go after and eradicate their assigned unit. Sam, you're with me, we'll go after the unit going South; Natasha and Clint, you'll hit the unit going West; Bucky, Rhodey, you two will eliminate the unit heading East. We know they'll be listening, so radio silence is mandatory. We'll rendezvous tomorrow at the abandoned base. If any group doesn't show up by midnight the next night, we'll go looking for you. Does anyone have any questions or objections?” Everyone looked at Steve evenly, then shook their head. “Good. Natasha, what about the jet?”

“I can carry you two to the areas of your units, and me and Clint can parachute to ours; the jet has an auto-pilot feature that can return it to base. We'll be able to hail it for extraction at any time.” As she spoke, she banked the jet towards Steve and Sam's LZ. Steve nodded in approval.

Very soon, they reached their drop point; Natasha opened the back hatch and Sam and Steve unbuckled and stood. They stepped towards the hatch, then turned back. “Be safe,” Steve hollered over the whistling of the wind. “Take care of yourselves,” Sam seconded. They received four small smiles as thanks.

“You too,” Bucky ordered. Natasha quirked a brow in agreement.

They both grinned and nodded once; then, Sam grabbed Steve and they jumped out of the open hatch, his wings unfolding with all the grace of his namesake's, and then they were gone.

When they came to Bucky and Rhodey's drop point, Natasha turned and gave an encouraging grin at Bucky – who returned it – and Clint twisted around to fist-bump Rhodey.

“See you tomorrow!” Clint called. Rhodey smiled, and repeated, “See you tomorrow!” before flipping down his face-plate. Bucky spared a smile for them both; then he wrapped his arms around Rhodey's shoulders, and they leapt out of the jet and into the night.

–

For a short while, all Rhodey could hear was the moan of the wind and the hum of his suit; his helmet switched from night-vision to thermo, and then he could see the HYDRA unit marching quickly in the distance. He flew silently past them and onto a nearby ridge, where he landed softly and let Bucky hop off.

They collaborated quickly, and this was the plan they agreed on; Rhodey would circle around and lie in wait on the other side of their procession while Bucky flattened himself on the ridge with his sniper rifle. Rhodey would then fire two precision shots at the trees at the front and back of the line to fall and block their movement either forward or backwards, forcing them to climb the banks of the creek bed they were marching through either toward him or into the open clearing in front of Bucky. Rhodey's priority goal was to dispatch as many HYDRA staff as possible; Bucky's priority goal was to eliminate all stragglers.

The plan started out well enough; he fired off his repulsor beams before HYDRA knew what was happening, and the trees fell dutifully to block their path. Then the agents and soldiers swarmed towards his position while the scientists and their escorts fled into the clearing. Gunshots roared through the air and grenades bounced around him, and a few of them even had electrical discharge technology; Rhodey never stayed still for more than a second, was careful to not repeat his movements, and made full use of his arsenal.

For the most part, it worked; when the life-sign counter at the side of his screens dropped from 107 to 23, a commander yelled out the retreat; the remaining agents scrambled up the other side of the bank and into the clearing, then froze when they saw that it was peppered with the dead dark lumps of their comrades. The low _boom_ of a sniper-rifle rumbled, and a hole appeared between the commander's eyes.

The remaining 22 immediately threw themselves back down into the creek-bed. Rhodey fired a delayed-explosion projectile into the bed where they had all dived, and when it exploded with a rain of snow and dirt, he thought, 'That was that.'

But the life-sign counter on his screens never fell from 22.

Something went horribly wrong. He listened closely, but the entire landscape was silent except for the increasingly agitated wind. Flurries of snow were beginning to fall, but other than that, nothing moved. Rhodey flexed his hands, then lipped his lips. He decided to fire another projectile.

It seemed to bounce off of the air and fly right back at him.

Rhodey threw himself into flight, but the delay wasn't long enough; it exploded behind him, knocking out the repulsors in his feet and sending him smashing through a tree. Almost immediately, he heard the distinct sound of a fired rocket-launcher. He braced, but instead the explosion was far away; he pushed himself up onto his elbows and saw the ridge in the distance explode and crumble.

There was no time to think; two agents were rushing him, one with an electric pulser and the other with some unknown, clunky weapon, and he acted. When the first agent primed the pulser and thrust it at him, he rolled and grabbed the agent's wrist, thrusting it instead into the belly of the second one. They spasmed and dropped, lifeless, and the first one frantically drew their pistol with their free hand. The repulsor in his gauntlet was faster than their draw.

Breathing heavily, he shoved the mutilated body off of him and scrambled upright. A quarter of his systems were offline – including his boots, dammit – but he could make do. His immediate concern was Bucky.

The wind was so strong, now, that the trees were swaying and groaning, and large drifts of snow wrapped around his legs. The snow was falling harder now, swirling in angry loops, and if Bucky was wounded and Rhodey was grounded in a _blizzard_ -

He staggered towards the rubble of the ridge. When he got there, there was no sign of Bucky; only the slumped-over bodies of HYDRA personnel. The life-sign counter on his screens read as 0. He ordered it to expand its area; it read as 32. He ordered it to focus on human life-signs only. 21.

There was really nothing he could do but stand there and wait, convincing himself that it was all right as the number went from 21, to 19, 18, 15, 14, 13, 10, 9, 6, 4, 3, 2, and finally – 1.

His thermal vision was still activated, and that was the only reason he saw the faint heat signature moving in the distance. When the figure breached the tree-line and came into the clearing, he switched it back to night-vision. The snow was too thick to see ten feet in front of him. He switched thermal back on, and kept his weapons primed.

Eventually the figure was within that ten feet range, and he could see that the silhouette was that of Bucky Barnes. He heaved a sigh of relief, powered down his weapons, and switched to night-vision.

The entire front of Bucky's coat was covered in violent splatters of blood, and he suspected the back was just as bad. The man had fastened the flaps of his hood over the uncovered parts of his face, so Rhodey couldn't made out his expression. He was still clutching a blood-soaked knife.

“I'm grounded,” he yelled over the noise of the blizzard. “I can't fly us anywhere. We need shelter, or we're not gonna make it!”

Bucky carefully wiped his knife off on his sleeve, then used it to point in the direction in which he came. He started off at a ridiculously brisk pace, which Rhodey tried his best to match through the wind and the drifts and the rising snow.

He didn't know how long they walked; he only knew that they moved so fast and the wind and snow was so taxing that the muscles in his legs and back burned. Finally, a large shadow appeared over the crest of a hill. It appeared to be an abandoned log cabin.

“ _Good find_ ,” he praised. Bucky gave no indication that he heard him; just kicked the snow away from in front of the door, then shouldered it open. Rhodey rushed in and squeezed past Bucky, who quickly closed the door behind them.

The suit did an incredible job of keeping him warm, but he still felt himself give off a brisk phantom shiver. The inside of the cabin was dark and cold – his suit's readings told him it was only a couple degrees warmer than outside, and that was factoring in wind chill – and slightly eerie. The windows were streaked and smudged, but solid; the fireplace lay cold; the room lay barren except for some very plain wooden furniture; there was an iron potbelly stove in a corner that looked ancient; and the cabinets were all open and empty. There was a small room off to the side which he guessed was the bathroom, and at the far side of the room was a splintered wooden ladder that led up to the loft, where he guessed some really old beds were. There was no way he was going up there.

Bucky, while Rhodey was looking around, had sheathed his knife and drew his pistol, then began making a thorough sweep around the room. His life-sign counter still read them as being the only ones around, but he supposed that this wouldn't be the first abandoned place in HYDRA territory that would have hidden surprises.

Bucky checked the fireplace, the walls, the furniture, the cabinets, the stove, the wash-basin, then threw open the door of the small room to the side. Rhodey was relieved to see that there was, indeed, a chamber-pot in there. Bucky moved on to the ladder, which, after a brief test with his left arm in which a whole chunk of wood snapped away, threw it in the corner and holstered his pistol before turning around and... just standing there.

Rhodey waited, but Bucky didn't move.

“Bucky?” He prompted. No response. He opened his face plate and – _cold_ – but this was important. “Bucky?” he repeated, without the suit synthesizing his voice.

No response.

Okay.

“Bucky, what's my name?” he prompted, gently.

Bucky's head slowly lifted. Rhodey _really_ wished he could see his face, but there was no way he'd raise his hands – weapons – or approach him – threatening. “Rhodey,” he said, finally, muffled, and _good_.

“Do you think you could take off your goggles and hood? Please?”

At first he thought Bucky wouldn't respond again, but then, warily, his hands lifted to pull back his fur-lined hood and pull off his goggles. He exhaled heavily, leaving a large cloud of mist. His eyes were unfocussed and looked slightly glazed.

“Would you like me to come over to you?” Rhodey suggested, as kindly as he could. Bucky's eyes dragged over to him, and he looked confused, as if he didn't truly believe that he was real. Slowly, he stepped forwards; Bucky looked at his legs. When he was only a foot away, close enough that the mist from their breath interfered with each other, he stopped. “I'm going to take your hands, okay?” Rhodey warned softly. Bucky twitched his head in the suggestion of a nod. Carefully, he took Bucky's hands in each of his own and squeezed. Bucky's eyes focused. “You with me?”

Bucky blinked, then blinked again, then squeezed them shut and took a deep breath of frigid air. Slowly, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Rhodey's chest-plate. “Just. Give me a minute.”

He waited as he felt Bucky dig his heels into the floor and go through two different breathing exercises. Intermittently, he squeezed his gauntlets. Rhodey had lost all feeling in his cheeks, but they could worry about heat later.

Finally, Bucky breathed, “Fuck.”

“It happens. You're okay now. You got through it.”

Bucky stepped back and looked him up and down. “You don't have any clothes for this climate.” He looked at the windows. “We're going to be stuck here for a while.”

Rhodey frowned down at his suit. “No, I don't,” he conceded, then looked at the windows and went, “That doesn't sound good.” Bucky let go of his hands and stalked towards the wooden table, which he flipped and immediately started dismembering. “Um.”

“Fire,” Bucky answered over his shoulder, ripping up the wooden planks from the frame and prying the nails out with his left hand before tossing them into the same corner as the chunk of wood. “Get the chairs, will you?”

“Will that even work? With how hard it's snowing?” Rhodey questioned, but walked over and started busting up the chairs anyway.

“The chimney has a cap on it; the smoke will go out and the snow won't get in,” Bucky explained briskly, shrugging towards the empty stone hearth. Very soon, they had a good pile of wood; they piled it up against the wall, then kneeled down on the floor and began building the foundations of a fire. When they were finished, Rhodey created a spark that caught the wood on fire; it quickly spread and, finally, _warmth_.

Both of them eased themselves onto the ground in front of the fire – Rhodey, a little awkwardly, since the suit really wasn't made for flexibility – and smiled. Bucky swung his pack off of his back, pulled off his bloody gloves, opened it, then pulled out two pieces of beef jerky, a bag of dried fruit, and a water bottle.

“Wish we could make smores,” Rhodey joked.

“What's a smore?” Bucky asked absently, working at the wrapper of his jerky. The firelight glinted off of his metal hand – the effect was surprisingly calming.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Rhodey said blandly; when Bucky paused in picking up his jerky stick to unwrap it for him, looking confused, Rhodey blinked in shock. “Wait, you're serious?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes.

“Sorry. Smores are a melted marshmallow and piece of chocolate stuck between two crackers.”

Bucky mused on that for a moment, before shrugging and tossing his jerky to him. “We can share the fruit and the bottle.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They ate and sipped in tired, content silence, listening to the wind moan and the cabin creak and the fire crackle; when they were finished, Bucky's eyes drooped, but Rhodey let out a groan and shifted awkwardly. Bucky side-eyed him. “That suit of yours giving you trouble?”

“It's not really made for lounging,” Rhodey winced.

Bucky seemed to consider something for a moment; then he said, “Take it off. I can give you my coat and gloves.”

Rhodey looked at him, surprised. “Won't you be cold?”

Bucky squinted at him. “Do you remember what my codename is?”

Winter Soldier. Right. Rhodey tried to protest anyway. “I don't want to make you-” but Bucky was already standing up, slinging off his rifle and laying his weapons on the ground so he could unfasten his coat. “No, really-”

“No, _really_ ,” Bucky insisted when he was reduced to his gray turtleneck. He held his coat open – still coated in dried blood – like a gentleman awaiting to drape it over his date.

Rhodey sighed heavily, then carefully stood up and moved off to open up and step out of the suit. The moment he did, the cold air hit him in a merciless wave, making his breath stall in his lungs and his hair stand on end. It didn't take long for him to scurry into the coat, already warm from being worn all day. He was so grateful he ignored exactly how gross it was.

His pants – jeans, really – and shoes were still too thin, though. He thought he would've been in a warm jet on his way home by now. No such luck. He eagerly settled down again in front of the fire. Bucky dumped their trash back into his pack and moved it to the side, then settled down beside him. “You sure you don't want the gloves?”

“No, I don't want the gloves.”

Bucky just smirked, then moved the gloves over by the pack. Then, with Rhodey bundled up in the coat and able to cross his legs and Bucky feeling light and unladen, they fell into an easy and content silence.

Until Bucky heard the sound of chattering teeth.

“Really?” he chuckled, smirking at Rhodey.

“S-shush,” Rhodey huffed.

Bucky got that thoughtful look again. “Open your coat.”

“ _What?_ ”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Open _my_ coat.”

Rhodey gave him his trademark Not Impressed Look, but he humored him, unfastening the coat and holding it open. “Is this supposed to let more heat in from the fire or-”

He cut himself off, because Bucky crawled in beside him and pulled them flush against each other, side-to-side, before tugging his side of the coat around them both. Rhodey quickly did the same.

“How's this?” Bucky murmured, grinning, not even an inch away from his face.

Rhodey blinked. “I like this a lot better,” he admitted, with an incredulous laugh.

Bucky hummed, then slowly relaxed. Between the hypnotic flickering and crackling of the fire, the cocoon of warmth he was in, and the slow increase of weight against his side from a droopy Bucky, sleep seemed more and more appealing. “Do you think we could... lie down...?” Rhodey mumbled.

“Best idea you ever had,” Bucky huffed, then yawned. Slowly, they turned and settled down on the floor; Rhodey settled snugly with the fire on one side and Bucky on the other. Carefully, he nestled his head into the hood and closed his eyes. Bucky soon turned onto his side and plastered himself against him, using his chest as a pillow. Rhodey smiled.

For now, they were safe. They were warm. They weren't alone. And, for the time being, they could believe that everything was going to be okay.


	8. Day 8 - Sex Pol- No, Kidfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. Short story: the original prompt for this story was Sex Pollen, which I opted out of because I'm just not comfortable with that prompt and I didn't want to do it. So I plowed straight on into Day 9, no biggie. But, now, see, if I did that here it would mess up the number count, so I thought, "Hey, what if I wrote another fic of another prompt that's not in the original challenge as make-up/an apology?"
> 
> The result - is this. Kidfic.
> 
> As per usual I wasn't supposed to write this long or make it this big but, eh, what can you do.
> 
> **Content Warning for allusions to Child Death**

The underground facility was completely inconspicuous – which, granted, usually these things were. Shady organizations liked to hide out under banks, or research facilities, or abandoned factories and asylums. But these bastards – they chose a children's hospital.

Over the course of several years, there had been sporadic child abductions across three states – New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. There was never a solid pattern, there were no witnesses, there was no trail – the police handling the cases were at a complete loss, and the first cases were solemnly classified as “cold.”

Then a civilian was attacked by a goblin-like creature in Boston and SHIELD began investigating. After six months of intensive reconnaissance they finally pinpointed the organization behind the attack – and discovered that they were linked to the abductions.

They were experimenting on children.

SHIELD assembled a case as fast as possible, triangulated their position, and dispatched War Machine and the Winter Soldier as a two-man strike team to infiltrate the facility, disable its activities, secure the children, and bring its leadership into custody.

Rhodey would act as a diversion by storming in through the front while Bucky slipped in through the back. If everything went to plan, they should reconvene in the heart of the facility, where the most fortified room was located – the most likely place the leadership would hide.

And everything did go to plan. But when Bucky and Rhodey met up in the dim, concrete hallway, Bucky looked gutted and Rhodey's movements were slow and heavy.

“No survivors,” Rhodey reported, quietly, mournful.

Bucky looked up at him, then looked away, shaking his head, and that's when they heard it – a faint cry from a couple rooms away. The wailing of a baby.

Both their heads snapped towards the sound then back to each other. “ _Go_ , I've got these sons of bitches!” Rhodey urged, stepping towards the electromagnetic door, and Bucky didn't need anymore prompting to sprint off towards the sound.

He ran through an empty doorway and rapidly cased the room – there was no one in it, just machinery that was morbidly familiar – and sheathed his knife. He stepped further into the room and – _there_.

In a little glass chamber was a tiny squirming baby. He hurried up to it and quickly looked around, trying to think about what it did and how it worked – he found the wires and chords that powered it, deemed it safe to rip them out, and did so. The lid unsealed with a soft hissing noise and he quickly popped it off – when the baby saw him they started to cry harder and he ignored how that made him feel and reached forward to pick them up. He saw his bloody gloves at the last second and immediately retracted his arms – he rolled up his sleeves, shucked off his gloves, _then_ reached in to pick up the little one.

He did it as gently as he could but they were still screaming and they tried to wiggle away from his metal hand. He carefully cradled them in his right arm, then, and looked around for something to wrap them in – they were in nothing but a diaper and both the air and his metal arm were cold. He found a towel sitting on a chair, checked that it was clean, then swaddled the little one in it – the entire time he tried to comfort them, whispering, “Shhh, shhh, it's okay, you're okay now, I'm gonna get you out of this, I won't let anyone hurt you.” Slowly, the baby's cries quieted but didn't stop.

Soon he heard the stomping boots of the follow-up squad and when they passed the doorway with only a few concerned glances he stepped out and left the way they came, going up the stairs and into the basement and from the basement to the lobby where the medics were waiting.

A couple of nurses saw him and the baby and immediately asked, “How many more are coming?”

“This one's it,” he said dully.

The shock froze the room for only about two seconds before a doctor was reaching for the baby and after a small flicker of resistance he handed them over. The doctor and two nurses then quickly walked off down the hallway, followed by three SHIELD agents, leaving the rest of them to slowly digest it all.

After a few minutes Rhodey came up to find Bucky sitting in the waiting room, arms crossed and nervously bouncing his leg as he stared off down the hallway, still looking fresh from battle and splattered with blood.

Rhodey flipped up his face plate and tentatively asked, “How's the kid?”

Bucky shrugged. “Waiting to find that out.”

Rhodey worked his bottom lip between his teeth and followed Bucky's gaze down the hallway. After a long moment, he said, “I think I'll join you.”

And so they waited, ruffled and worn in the empty waiting room; the SHIELD agents were slowly starting to file out, but if anyone wanted them to head back home, they didn't say anything.

–

When the doctor finally came back out, hours later (Rhodey had stepped out of the suit when he couldn't feel his feet), the baby was properly swaddled in a soft pink blanket and sleeping in her arms. She immediately looked at the two Avengers sitting in the waiting room and slowly approached them. Both men stood.

“I take it you two are, uh, Mr. Barnes and Colonel Rhodes?” she prompted. They both nodded. “You did... you did good work, today. And I'm sure you'll be happy to know that the little button's fine.”

Bucky physically relaxed while Rhodey asked, “Nothing – nothing was wrong?”

The doctor smiled and shook her head. “Just a little malnourished and stressed, and we took care of that. SHIELD is working to find her family, yes?”

Rhodey and Bucky glanced at each other. “I imagine they are, yes,” Rhodey nodded.

Bucky shifted his weight. “Will she... is she going to be staying here? Until her family's found?”

The smile on the doctor's face lost its shine. “No. We don't – we expected SHIELD would take her into custody. Or social services.”

Rhodey and Bucky glanced at each other again. “We can find a supervisor, I bet,” Rhodey chuckled.

“Okay! Great,” the doctor chirped, then held out the baby towards them. They blinked.

“May I?” Rhodey questioned, taken-aback, slowly lifting his arms.

The doctor huffed a laugh. “If anyone has permission to hold this baby, it's you two,” she insisted, then gently transferred the little one to Rhodey's arms. The baby snuffled a bit, then settled down again as Rhodey cradled her. “Have a good one, you two,” the doctor nodded, then rushed off before they could reply.

Rhodey slowly started walking towards the rotating doors at the front of the hospital, Bucky matching pace beside him. Both stared at the baby. She had a wide nose and soft, curly black hair and olive skin, and from what Bucky could remember of her staring up at him her eyes were hazel behind the tears.

“Gosh, she's amazing,” Rhodey whispered. Bucky stayed silent.

When they were outside, they walked towards one of the few remaining SHIELD cars where an agent was talking with a social worker. They were greeted briefly, questioned about the baby, then prompted to hand her to the social worker; as the woman walked away with the baby towards her own car, the agent looked at them both and said, “At least that's one happy ending.”

–

Not quite.

Three days later, Bucky and Rhodey were summoned to Fury's office. When they stepped through the door, Fury leaned forward and folded his hands. “Gentlemen.” The baby cooed from within a car seat sitting on the floor beside his desk.

Bucky and Rhodey shared a long look before closing the door and sitting down in the chairs in front of the desk. “Sir.”

Fury wasted no time. “There are no records of this baby. She doesn't match any missing persons reports, and none of the families have claimed her. We tried a DNA test, and that's how we found out the first part. There's no parents, no family, nowhere for her to go. But that's only _part_ of why I brought you two here.”

Rhodey frowned and Bucky straightened in his chair.

“I don't trust the hospital's analysis,” Fury stated. “With the kinds of experiments these fanatics were doing, not everything is detectible by basic hospital procedure.” He looked at Bucky. “You know this.”

Bucky flexed his right hand on the arm rest of the chair and nodded. Twelve medics looked him over after the march back to base camp through the Italian front and not a single one knew a serum variant was coursing through his veins.

“Which is why,” Fury continued, “I'm putting this little girl in your care.” He gestured to them both and was met by two shocked stares.

Rhodey blinked. “A baby.”

Bucky shook his head and leaned forward. “ _Both_ of us?!”

Fury leaned back in his chair and gave him a very potent 'don't you bullshit me' glare. “It was _my_ impression that you two were an item.” Rhodey and Bucky stiffened, so he continued, “Like I _wouldn't_ know. Of course I know. Now are you two going to be able to serve as guardians to this child or not?”

Rhodey swallowed, then managed, “For how long?”

“Either until something shows or we find another family for her.”

Bucky looked him in the eye. “And if something shows?” he asked quietly.

Fury leaned forward again. “Truthfully, it depends on what that something is. If it's mild, I _might_ be persuaded to let her remain with you. If she's dangerous, we're taking her in.”

Both knew what 'taking her in' meant.

Fury wasn't going to talk again until he got an answer; Bucky stared at him for a few moments more before looking at the baby watching them curiously with large eyes from the car-seat. Rhodey reached over and gently put his hand over Bucky's, and when the baby looked over to him, he smiled. She toothlessly grinned back.

“We're both agents in a dangerous line of work,” Rhodey pointed out. He looked up at Fury. “How are we going to deal with that?”

“Easy. I'm putting you both on leave,” Fury shrugged. “I'm assuming that six months should be long enough for you to get something worked out?”

“ _Six months_ ,” Bucky wheezed.

“That should be enough, yes,” Rhodey replied, smiling and enthusiastically nodding. He looked over at Bucky, who looked absolutely stunned, and squeezed his hand. “Well? What do you say?”

Bucky looked from the baby, to him, to Fury, to the baby, back to him, then back to the baby before going, “Yes.” Then: “But what's her name?”

“Doesn't have one,” Fury replied. Bucky and Rhodey absently nodded. “Now take her and get the hell out of my office.”

–

The thing about having an impromptu child was all of the frantic shopping you had to do.

Rhodey and Bucky had signed through a small pile of paperwork, then carried the car-seat down to Rhodey's car, strapped her in, and drove off to the nearest supermarket while Bucky went through and read aloud her health paperwork in the passenger seat. It turned out that she was a little over six months old, weighed about sixteen pounds, and was twenty-six inches long, with a blood type of O+.

When Rhodey pulled into the parking garage and parked, they almost got out without first putting on their disguises – which barely classified as disguises, since Rhodey just put a pair of fake glasses and a baseball cap on and Bucky tied his hair back and pulled up the hood on his hoodie, but they worked, somehow, some way – then got out. Bucky opened the back door and unbuckled the baby while Rhodey enthusiastically talked about what they needed to buy.

“We're going to have to child-proof our floor in the Tower, so we're gonna have to get outlet caps, and locks for the drawers, and we're gonna need – diapers, and clothes, and – does she eat solids yet? Okay, we need formula a little bit of solids, and – a diaper bag! That's gonna – toys, we're gonna have to buy toys-”

Bucky hoisted the baby to his chest and shut the door, then began walking towards the entrance of the store. Rhodey continued talking.

“-what about one of those walker chairs – _oh_ , a crib! We need a crib-”

Bucky bumped his shoulder into his. “Okay, who's more nervous about this baby? You or me?”

Rhodey stopped counting on his hands – he had lost track anyways – and took a deep breath. He looked over to the baby, in a plain grey shirt and jeans with socked feet, who had been smiling at him the entire time he had been rambling. Apparently he made a face she found amusing because she giggled and blew a spit-bubble out her mouth.

“Okay,” he relented. “All right.”

They spent the next few hours roaming the store, taking turns holding the baby and pushing the cart, slowly piling it full of baby things. When they got to the clothes and toys sections, Bucky or Rhodey would walk around with the baby in their arms and show her things, trying to gauge her reaction – if she smiled and reached out, they'd put it in the cart – if she didn't pay attention or babbled or looked away, they moved on (she picked out a flowery dress, a pair of Winnie the Pooh overalls, a Stars and Stripes dress – Bucky and Rhodey laughed when she went for that one – and a Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt).

When they were all satisfied, they went to the checkout, and Bucky determinedly distracted himself by playing with the baby so he wouldn't see the total price (it was A Lot). When everything was bagged and loaded back into the cart, they headed back out to the car and and set their sights on home.

–

That night, after they got everything up to their floor – with only a little help from JARVIS and a flabbergasted gaggle of interns – Bucky set up the high-chair to feed her while Rhodey dragged everything they needed into the spare room to slap together a nursery. As he opened all the boxes, he prompted, “JARVIS?”

“ _Yes, sir?”_

“You haven't told Tony that there's a baby in the Tower, yet, have you?”

“ _No, sir. Mr. Stark is currently in his workshop and has asked not to be disturbed.”_

“Good. Don't tell him. I want to break it to him in the morning.”

There was the smallest processing pause before JARVIS replied, _“I wish you well with that, sir,”_ with a distinct synthetic impression of amusement. Then, after another pause: _“There is something you may wish to see in the kitchen.”_

Rhodey stopped unpacking the boxes to stand up and sneak out of the room towards the kitchen. When he peeked around the corner, the baby was in the high-chair and Bucky was sitting in front of her, a spoon of baby food in his hand, looking both ruffled and determined. The baby was smiling at him and there was already smears of baby food on the side of her mouth.

“Here comes the _airplane!_ ” he announced, then valiantly attempted to make the 'bwarm' noises as he slowly swooped the spoon towards the baby's mouth. She looked delighted. When the spoon finally reached her mouth, he mimed taking a bite, which the baby copied perfectly, and when the spoon came away empty he praised her with a “Yay!” She smiled and some of it dribbled down the side of her mouth again.

It was so cute Rhodey thought he'd die right there.

When he went back into the nursery and got back to work assembling the crib, he said, “Thank you for that, JARVIS.”

“ _It was my pleasure, sir.”_

–

After Bucky was done feeding the baby he asked Rhodey to give her a bath while he cooked _them_ supper. Rhodey's only objections were that the nursery wouldn't be done that night; Bucky shrugged and said “Blame Fury.” So Rhodey drew up a bath and added some bubbles and a rubber ducky and the baby squealed and babbled and showed him her duck.

“You wanna see what it does?” he prompted her, then – still supporting her back with one hand – he reached forward and squeezed it. It made a loud squeak and she jolted and stared at it, then began loudly giggling in bright peals of laughter. He squeaked it a few more times, then let her get back to playing with it as he washed her hair.

When the bath was all done, he toweled her off and dressed her in her fuzzy dinosaur pajamas (another article of clothing she picked out) and carried her into the kitchen. As her head sleepily lolled into his chest he said, “Don't you go falling asleep on me; if you fall asleep this early then you'll wake up in the middle of the night and we might not think you're so cute anymore.”

She ignored him, of course; her eyes drooped by the time he got back to the high-chair by the table, where the food was laid out, but when he put her down into the chair she got grumpy and upset that she wasn't being nestled anymore.

“I _have_ to _eat_ ,” Rhodey insisted, stabbing his fork into his food while Bucky smirked from across the table. She made a loud noise of disagreement and Rhodey resigned himself to eating as fast as he could – he burned his tongue a little – so he could pick her back up as soon as possible. The moment he did she quieted down and curled against his chest and he was in trouble.

Bucky watched them out of the corner of his eye as he put the dishes in the dishwasher, still smiling; after he closed the door he walked up to look at her breathing softly against Rhodey's shoulder for a bit before he whispered, “You can relax; I'm gonna finish up the nursery.”

Rhodey nodded gratefully and eased himself down onto the couch.

Bucky had finished putting together the crib and was making sure the mattress fit snug when JARVIS said, _“Sir?”_

“Yeah, JARVIS?”

“ _There is something you may wish to see in the living-room.”_

Bucky huffed and slinked out of the nursery to quietly investigate the living-room, and JARVIS was right: Rhodey was slouched back and asleep on the couch, and the baby was sprawled across his chest, still cradled by his arms, gently sleeping.

Bucky ran his hands through his hair and had to turn around. Then, he rooted around for his phone, made sure it was on silent, and took a picture.

When he returned to the nursery, he quietly said, “Thanks, JARVIS. I needed that.”

“ _Of course, sir.”_

–

Eventually, Bucky had to force himself to gently wake Rhodey up, and after that was accomplished they both tip-toed to the nursery to see if Rhodey could gently lay her down inside the crib without waking her up. Yes, in fact, he could. They both backed away with bated breath, then silently shut the door. They waited five seconds, then fist-pumped the air.

After they both took care of their own hygiene and crawled into bed, they laid there and stared at the ceiling, processing everything that happened that day and the massive responsibility one room away. Neither could quite get to sleep – so when the crying started they both leaped out of bed and ducked into the nursery.

Rhodey picked her up and tried to shush her, and when that didn't work he passed her to Bucky who tried rocking her then bouncing her. When that didn't work, he tried burping her.

She burped softly over his shoulder then quieted down. Bucky shared a look with Rhodey and they both sighed; Bucky laid her back down in the crib, but she looked up at them and started getting upset again.

“Hey,” Rhodey protested softly, reaching in to hold her hand between two fingers. “Hey. Why are you starting up again?” She continued to make distressed noises.

“Try picking her up again,” Bucky whispered; Rhodey did so and she quieted down.

Rhodey gave her a pointed look. “This isn't gonna do, little missy,” he explained, then began to put her back, and she started getting upset again. Bucky crossed his arms. “You can't fall asleep on us every night.” He pulled his arms away to rest them on the ridge of the crib, and they frowned down at her, and she cried up at them, and they were at an impasse.

Then Rhodey had an idea. He started singing softly, and it immediately got her attention. Bucky tilted his head and listened.

“ _Goodnight, my angel / Time to close your eyes / And save these questions for another day..._ ”

He kept singing what he remembered until her breathing got soft and slow and her eyelids fluttered shut. When it looked like she was sleeping he faded out to a hum, and when she showed no sign of stirring, he softly stopped humming. She still didn't stir.

Carefully, they eased themselves out of the nursery and quietly shut the door again; then, on the way back to their bedroom, Bucky murmured, “Was that... was that Billy Joel?”

Rhodey glanced at him and huffed into a grin. “I'm surprised you remembered.”

“I didn't, actually, I guessed,” Bucky admitted; Rhodey gave him a look and Bucky smirked back before crawling into bed.

–

The next morning Rhodey nursed the baby on a formula bottle while Bucky cooked breakfast and they both pondered how to break the news to the others.

After the baby's face was cleaned up and all of the toast and pancakes were gone, Rhodey pulled out his phone and thought aloud, “I think I'm gonna text him.”

Bucky picked up on his conspiratory glance and went, “Oh?”

Rhodey was already texting. “Hey... Tony... guess – what? I'm... a – father.” A pause. “Smiley face.”

He hit send and looked up to meet Bucky's grin and they both counted, “One, two, three, four, five-”

Rhodey's phone started blaring 'Shoot to Thrill' and the moment Rhodey picked up loud yelling came across the line, forcing Rhodey to hold the phone back. Bucky snorted.

“No, I am _not_ shitting you,” Rhodey replied when the noise was actually legible. Then: “No, it's not from some long-lost girlfriend. It's a long stor- Hey Pepper,” he chuckled. “Yeah, she's a little spitfire. Uh-” he looked at the clock on the stove, then lowered his phone and looked at Bucky. “They wanna come down.”

Bucky shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Yeah, that'll be fine. At ten? We'll be here.” There was a sound that Bucky could distinctly make out as Pepper's laughter and then a low rumble of one of Tony's quips and then they hung up. Rhodey pocketed his phone and breathed out. “Well. That's done. Your turn.”

Bucky shook his head at him then pulled out his own phone. “I'm gonna call instead of text, because that's what this news deserves, and I'm not a _dick_ ,” he joked as he scrolled through his contacts and pressed call; Rhodey waved him off and turned to play with the baby, who was getting bored. The phone rang a few times, then: “Hey, Steve.” A pause. “Yeah, I'm doing fine. Better than fine.” Bucky looked at Rhodey making faces at the baby, who was loving every second of it. “Everything's going great – which is actually why... why I'm calling you.” Bucky smiled tightly, then said, “I kind of have, a, uh... Yesterday me and Rhodey, we- We have a kid.” Bucky huffed a laugh. “I said we have a kid. Yeah. As in child. A baby, actually. You wanna hear her?” Bucky paused long enough to get an affirmation, then held the phone out towards the high-chair. “Say hi to Uncle Steve!” The baby let out a long 'baaaah!' and then he leaned back again. Rhodey could hear Steve's high-pitched excited talking all the way across the table. “Actually no, we didn't, we- it's kind of a long story. Wait. Is Sam there?” A pause. “How about you both come down today? Would ten be okay? Tony and Pepper are coming at around that time.” He smiled. “Yeah, I'm calling Natasha as soon as I hang up. See you then.”

When ten o'clock finally came around, the elevator dinged, the doors open, and Tony swept into the room closely followed by Pepper, demanding, “Where's the oompa loompa?”

Bucky had been holding her in his lap as they watched TV; when Tony came around the couch, Bucky steadied her as she blinked up at him with a kind of resigned curiosity. The poor thing had certainly been passed around enough to justify the reaction; but Tony was already kneeling down in front of her going, “Hey, there! I'm your Uncle Tony!” He held out his hand, which the baby stared at for a few seconds, before he pulled it back and carried on as if she shook it. “Now, you wanna know what Uncles do? They give you _presents_ , so look what I got you!” He whipped out – of all things – a little baby Iron Man T-shirt and jiggled it in front of her. Rhodey dragged a hand down his face and Bucky rolled his eyes but the baby's face lit up and she reached out for it. Tony pressed it into her hands and she immediately stuck it into her mouth. Tony did an over-exaggerated pout, which just made her giggle around the shirt.

Pepper leaned down and cooed “Hi!” just as the elevator dinged again and Steve and Sam (Natasha was on assignment out of the country, but she wished them good will) walked in.

All seven of them spent the next three hours going over the details of the hospital raid that didn't make the news and Fury's suspicions. Tony quickly commandeered the conversation to lighter sentiments and asked them if they were going to keep her. Their answer: they didn't know. The papers they signed gave them temporary custody only for the six months that Fury gave them. Otherwise, it was in the wind.

Then Steve asked, “What's her name?” and Rhodey and Bucky got quiet.

“She- She... doesn't have one,” Rhodey said quietly.

Pepper frowned down at her and asked, “Isn't she six months? She should know her name by now.” The baby had caught on to the mood of the room and was trying to mirror everyone's concerned expressions.

Bucky shook his head. “We don't know what to name her. We don't even know if we have the right.”

Sam leaned over, grabbed one of her feet, and started wiggling it while making light-hearted growling noises. When she smiled and laughed at him, he smiled at Bucky and Rhodey and said, “Of course you have the right. If both of you dedicate the next six months to her well being, and you do the best that you can do, then you have the right. Just don't feel pressured; her name will come.” Bucky smiled softly at him and nodded his head in thanks.

Tony raised his hands. “Just throwing it out there, I think 'Antonia' is pretty nice.” Pepper smacked him and Rhodey fondly shook his head.

–

When they all four filed back into the elevator after lunch and left, Bucky set her down on the floor surrounded by toys near where Rhodey was still sitting by the TV and retreated to the bedroom for some quiet. She looked over at Rhodey with questioning eyes and he quietly explained, “He only has so much energy he can use for interacting with things. Between going to the store yesterday and worrying over you last night and then having everyone over all this morning he just needs some time alone.” When she still looked uncertain, he added, “He still loves you, don't worry.”

She couldn't understand him, of course, so she eventually lost interest in him and turned to her toys. Rhodey sighed and flipped through the channels until he finally settled on watching 'How It's Made.' She seemed to like the narrator's voice as much as he did.

Bucky came back out before supper and put forth extra effort to interact with her after leaving her with Rhodey all afternoon (which included multiple diaper changes and bottles). After both of them had supper and the baby was fed, Bucky gave her her bath and her final bottle for the night before laying her down in her crib.

After that day, the two of them started hammering out a routine and figuring out how they work. For one, they both agreed that they got stir-crazy after a while and needed shifts. Bucky decided to join Steve and Sam for their morning jogs and Rhodey went out every evening either to spend time with Tony and Pepper or just go for a walk, leaving the other with the baby. As for getting up in the middle of the night, they alternated – it was Bucky's responsibility on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; Rhodey's on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays; and they both got up on Saturdays. They also nailed down her exact feeding schedule, whether to bathe her every day or every other day, and spent most of the day bonding with her or exposing her to new things. Bucky even got her to warm up to his metal arm – while yes, it was cold, it was also shiny, and it seemed to be worth the payoff for her.

The nights were always tedious – Rhodey would drag himself out of bed to stumble into the nursery and check on her and take care of whatever she needed before singing her back to sleep. He had absolutely no idea what Bucky did on his nights – he'd never heard him sing in his life.

But then, about a week after they first got her, Rhodey woke up on a Friday night to her screaming. He sat up and reached out to Bucky, but the mattress was empty; he pushed the covers off and scrambled to his feet, then teetered out the door and into the hall to see Bucky exiting the nursery with her cradled in his arms, gently rocking her and shushing her. She kept screaming, and Bucky carried her into the living-room. Rhodey hovered in the hallway to wait and see if Bucky could handle it on his own.

Eventually he heard low singing coming from down the hall and slowly, slowly, her cries quieted down until she didn't make any noise at all.

Rhodey slowly came into the living-room to see Bucky in the recliner, the baby cradled in the crook of his right arm as her tiny hand was wrapped around his metal thumb. He was singing softly in a deep rumble a lullaby in a strange language he couldn't place.“ _Óho óho óho mo leana / Óho mo leana ina chodladh gan brón._ ”

When Bucky dropped off into humming Rhodey finally recognized it – Irish gaelic.

Eventually Bucky stopped humming when she didn't show a single sign of stirring, still safely nestled against his chest. Without looking away, he whispered, “I think we should name her Sarah.”

Rhodey slowly walked up beside the chair. “That sounds wonderful,” he whispered back. He looked at her and smiled. “Little Sarah.”

–

The next six months were both an eternity and a heartbeat.

Sarah started crawling when she was seven months old, and, after a group effort of everyone in the Tower, began responding to her name (when Bucky told Steve the story of how he named her he looked stricken; then he wiped at his eyes and asked to hug him. Bucky permitted it.). She also started to babble a lot more and became a lot more expressive.

When Sarah was nine months old she started making more noises than just “bababa” or “dadada,” and managed to grasp the concepts of words like “no” and “bye-bye” and “play.” She also threw JARVIS for a loop when she almost crawled into Tony's workshop, which had many sharp and toxic things on the ground – he slammed the doors shut, which both offended and scared her, so he spent the next several minutes apologizing profusely while she cried until Rhodey ran over and scooped her up. _“I must insist that you not let anything like this ever happen again, sir!”_ he shrilled.

When Sarah was ten months old, she took her first steps. She braced and balanced herself on Bucky's metal arm, then stared at Rhodey across the living-room floor. At Rhodey's soft and excited encouragement in front of her and Bucky's gentle prodding behind her, she took a few teetering steps towards him before falling down. She started crying, but Bucky crawled over and hugged her and praised her and she wanted to try again; she braced herself on his arm again then looked determinedly at Rhodey before taking one step, two steps... then she was toddling all the way over to his outstretched arms, and when she fell into his embrace, the whole room cheered. Natasha was there to record the whole thing.

When Sarah was eleven months old, she looked at Bucky and went, “Da... _Da_...”

Bucky's eyes widened almost comically and went, “Dada? Are you trying to say Dada?!” Rhodey hurried over.

“ _Da_... Dada!”

Rhodey thought Bucky looked like he was going to ascend to heaven at any moment. Then Bucky pulled Rhodey in front of her and pointed to him and asked, “Papa? Can you say _Papa_?”

“P... Puh... Pa...”

Rhodey gave her a shining smile. “Come on. _Pa-pa_ , you can do it. Papa!”

“Pa... Pa-pa!” She reached her hands out towards him and Rhodey swept her up into the air. “Papa!”

When Sarah was twelve months old and their six months were up, she, Bucky, and Rhodey walked into Fury's office. Fury's brows slowly rose into his nonexistent hairline.

Both men looked distinctly more haggard than when he last saw them, and while they had bags under their eyes before due to their pasts, line of work, and choice of company, they were noticeably more purple. Furthermore, it was outright strange to see Barnes sitting in a chair with his hair in a messy pony-tail and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, and Rhodes idly bouncing a one-year-old on his knee while looking outright stand-offish.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, snapping out of his surprise.

“Sir,” they replied in unison, clipped.

Fury stared across his desk at them before leaning forward and asking bluntly, “I'm assuming that nothing happened?”

“Nothing that a normal baby wouldn't do,” Rhodey answered. Bucky nodded.

Fury grunted his acknowledgment, then leaned back. “I'm also assuming that you both know I've found a willing family to take her in.”

Rhodey stopped bouncing his leg and the two of them stared at him like two raptors daring him to pluck their baby bird out of the nest.

“I'm not going to _force_ anything, stop looking at me like that,” he snapped, and they both slightly relaxed. “What I'm going to propose to you today is this: do you want to properly adopt her, or do you want to release her to another family?”

Rhodey and Bucky didn't even look at each other before they said, “Adopt.”

Fury huffed. “All right, then. Of course, now that your six months are up, I'm going to expect you back in the field. But.” He paused for effect. “Because I am a _generous_ man... I'm willing to give you each alternating turntables on when you'll be called to serve. Do we have an agreement?”

Bucky and Rhodey nodded.

Fury actually smiled. “Good.” Then he pulled out a mound of paperwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey's lullaby is [Goodnight, My Angel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcnd55tLCv8)
> 
> Bucky's lullaby is [Seoithín Seó](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDg3q6RC1w0)


	9. Day 9 - Matching Soulmate Markings

Rhodey had given up on finding his soul-mate by the time of his thirty-fifth birthday.

Here was everything he knew about how Soulmate Markings worked from what he learned in his school health textbooks and the Science Channel: every child born on Earth is born with a Mark wrapped around their wrist (or wrists, or wrists and ankles), and each one only has one match. He also knows that the Marks change color depending on the status of the person's Soulmate(s). For example, if the Soulmate isn't born yet by the time of birth, the Mark will only be faint outlines. If both Soulmates are alive, but haven't met each other, the Marks are colored in with hues of gray. The moment that you meet your Soulmate, they color themselves into solid gold.

The thing is, though, is that if your Soulmate is in a great deal of pain, the Mark will become red and inflamed. If your Soulmate dies, the Mark bleeds and scabs, losing its color in the process, before finally scarring over as a permanent reminder.

Rhodey's Mark had been red and inflamed since the day he was born.

Obviously, this caused him to have a slightly different childhood from most other kids. His mom had to constantly treat it, for one, to reduce the irritation and the burning. Plus, some of his first memories of elementary school were of other kids looking at his Mark and going, “Aw! What happened?” “Are they okay?” “Are you okay?” “What's the matter?” Every time, he replied with a simple “I don't know.”

Eventually he ended up wearing long sleeves whenever he could get away with it to get the worried looks and questions to stop. The only way he'd wear anything shorter was if A) it was hot as balls outside or B) he was only in the company of his family or extended family (extended family being Tony and Pepper, whose Marks turned gold the moment they laid eyes on each other).

Now, none of this was to say that he wasn't _worried_. Of course he was. It was his Soulmate, and he didn't want them to be in any pain, let alone – let alone _constantly_. At this point, he didn't even care if he ever met whoever it was – he just longed for a morning where he would wake up to see gentle grays around his wrist. (Sometimes he wishes to wake up and see it bleeding. He then shakes his head and immediately regrets the thought.)

He doesn't let it get to him, though. After all, he had dreams and aspirations that he wanted to accomplish. He entered the military, and earned his rank of Colonel through blood, sweat, and tears. He worked and he toiled for all of the good things in his life, and he treasured all of them. Now, he was the Iron Patriot; a national hero. His life was _good_.

He hoped that his Soulmate, wherever they were, could take comfort in that.

–

When the “Disaster in DC” strikes, the United States goes on high alert, and Rhodey is thrown into a shitstorm of fear and paranoia (apparently, it _could_ get worse). The Internet imploded with the full weight of HYDRA's infiltration into SHIELD and the government, which caused the media to turn borderline rabid and the people to call for absolute transparency. This meant that Rhodey was _very_ busy.

Between the President getting kidnapped and then three helicarriers crashing into the nation's Capitol soon afterwards, Rhodey didn't blame them.

It was after a month of the nation's frantic buzzing and his intensive work that he let his eyes rest on his wrist as he was drinking his coffee one morning.

He dropped the mug.

His Mark was gray.

–

More than a year had passed since his Mark turned gray, and things had continued to change.

For one, Tony had actually become successful in getting him to ease into the Avenging business – and, Rhodey had to admit, he did feel like he was doing more good than he was under the military's banner. This was how he became acquainted with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, and the three of them became fast friends.

“So how are things going on your front?” he asked Steve with a kind smile; the Avengers were kind of having a giant pizza party after another clean mission accomplished.

A thoughtful smile grew on Steve's face, before he looked over and shared a look with Sam. Both of them donned shining grins, and really, that was almost an answer in itself. What Rhodey knew of Rogers before he met the man was the lively and determined soldier in black and white photographs, and later, in delighted and surprised newspapers and magazines, a man with a hollow and drawn expression worn by the young ones that come back home after long tours. Now, Steve smiled often and laughed easily, due no doubt to the return of his childhood friend Bucky Barnes and the fact that he shared a golden Mark with Sam.

“As well as I could ever ask,” Steve replied, beaming at him. “Waking up every morning to Sam's pancakes is a welcome development since I moved in.”

“I have _so much_ pancake mix in my cupboards to feed this man's ridiculous appetite,” Sam chuckled before biting again into his pizza.

Rhodey finished chewing and swallowed. “Glad to hear it. How's Barnes doing?”

Steve set his pizza down as his eyes got far away and fond. “His recovery's going great. He's been going on some small joint-missions with Natasha lately, and I think it's brought him some peace, actually. Being out in the field again.”

“I'm proud of him,” Sam continued, smiling. “The man's trying. He really is.”

Steve suddenly sat up and looked at Rhodey. “Hey, would you like to join them on their next mission? The parameters require some form of air support, and Sam was going to do it, but, well...”

Rhodey's eyebrows rose. He looked at Sam, who said, “Hey, man, it's fine with me,” before looking across the table at Natasha, who had been quietly listening.

“Would you mind if I join you, Natasha?” Rhodey asked.

Natasha gave him an easy smile. “I'm fine with it, but you're going to have to check with Barnes.”

Steve considered a moment, then said, “I could arrange a meeting. Would my floor of the Tower be okay?”

Rhodey hummed his agreement around his pizza, chewed quickly, swallowed, then said, “Name the day, I'll be there.”

–

The day that they're set to meet is a scorching day in June, and even though the Tower was perfectly air-conditioned, Rhodey wore an Air Force tank-top anyway. Steve had yet to arrive with Barnes, so Rhodey was lounging around Steve's kitchen island nursing a bottle of water.

Eventually, he heard the elevator ding, so he capped the bottle and set it aside so he could stand up straight and be presentable. Soon enough, Rogers and Barnes rounded the corner, and this was the first thing he noticed: Barnes was wearing long-sleeves. This was the second thing: his hair looked rather nice in a pony-tail. This was the third: Barnes's eyes met his and he gave a polite, professional smile, before his eyes snapped down to his wrist and his expression melted into shock.

“Well, Buck, this is Rho...” Steve began, then trailed off, following Barnes's gaze before mirroring his expression.

Rhodey felt dread seize him like ice around his heart. _I'm going to look down and it's going to be bleeding_ , he thought, but he dragged his eyes down the length of his arm anyway and-

His Mark was gold.

“Oh.”

He looked back up at Barnes, who looked awfully pale, and was now absently looking around the floor as if there was anyone else that could have randomly shown up and turned his Mark gold. Steve was still staring intently at his Mark, frozen, looking like he saw a ghost. Rhodey- Rhodey... didn't know what he was feeling.

“Is... yours...?” he managed, lifting his wrist a little in indication. Barnes's jaw clenched, and almost instantly, he started shutting down, expression drawn, eyes unfocussing.

Steve took a wary step forward, then another, before visibly forcing himself to stop. He looked up at Rhodey and asked, quietly, “May I look closer at that?”

Rhodey wordlessly presented his Mark to him. Steve looked at it carefully, tilting his head to look at it from various angles, looking at the light shining off the lines. Everything was very still, and very quiet. None of them felt like breathing.

“Buck,” Steve said eventually, hardly a whisper. “That's your Mark. It matches. It matches exactly.” He looked up to his friend with an incredulous smile. Barnes's eyes focussed again on the Mark, but he did nothing else.

Rhodey was shocked, stunned, and disbelieving, and he couldn't understand why Barnes _wasn't looking at his own Mark_. So he asked. “Why don't you roll up your sleeve?”

Steve looked at him sharply, and Barnes tensed. Rhodey immediately realized that he did something Wrong.

Before he could say anything, though, Barnes frowned, hunched his shoulders, and slowly began unbuttoning his right cuff. Steve looked at him carefully, then stepped back, removing himself from the interaction. This was between Barnes and Rhodes. Then, Barnes pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, and-

Rhodey was military. This meant that he saw all kinds of mutilation of the human body, from combat and torture alike. He saw chemical burns before. But it was the _nature_ of this mutilation that made his stomach sink. From where his Mark began to where it ended, it was completely and efficiently burned off.

“People have Marks,” Barnes said dully in explanation. _Weapons don't._

Rhodey would very much like to gun down a HYDRA cell.

Rhodey swallowed, then looked up to Barnes's face. Barnes wouldn't meet his eye. “For the entirety of my life, until about a year ago, my Mark was red,” he said, quietly. Barnes eased his sleeve back down and buttoned the cuff again. “Ever since I can remember, I remember that I wanted my Soulmate's pain to end. When I was seven, I wrote a letter to Santa Claus...” He looked down and smiled faintly. “I think I wrote, 'Dear Santa, I won't ask you for any presents for the next five years if you'll make my Soulmate not sad.'” He chuckled and shook his head, then looked back up to Barnes, who was listening intently. “It didn't work, but I never stopped wishing that things would get better for them. For you. I didn't even care if we ever met, I just wanted you to be happy. And when the morning came when I looked down and saw that it was gray instead of red?” His smile grew. “I cried. Because I was so damn glad that things had finally gotten better for you.” He couldn't fully read Barnes's expression, but he thought there was a smile somewhere in there. “And I gotta say, you look good. And everyone says that you're doing good. And I really, truly am happy for you.”

Barnes's eyes crinkled the slightest bit, and he opened his mouth to say something when they heard a sniffle from the direction of the fridge. They turned to look.

Barnes snorted. “Steve, are you fucking crying?”

Steve puffed up and wiped at his eyes. “So what if I am?” he said defensively, then waved him off. “Um, I can leave, if you two-”

“No need,” Barnes said, stopping him in his tracks. He turned back to Rhodey and smiled, genuine, expression soft. “Thank you,” he nodded, then held out his left hand. “And... it's nice to meet you, _Soulmate_.”

Rhodey chuckled, then clasped cold metal and shook his hand. “Likewise, _Soulmate_. But please, call me Rhodey.”

“Call me Bucky, and we're golden.” A beat. They both snorted.

“Lord,” said Steve faintly from the back.

–

It was a slow thing. But they fell in love.

Now, they were both sitting on Steve's couch, hip-to-hip, Rhodey's left arm slung around Bucky's shoulders and idly fiddling with a strand of his hair. Both were in T-shirts that day, and the reason was sitting on the coffee-table, holding Bucky's metal arm stock-still and looking frequently at Rhodey's Marked arm, which was solemnly extended in front of him. Both had their eyes closed.

“Are you almost done?” Bucky wheedled.

Steve, who had his tongue between his teeth in concentration, carefully withdrew it back into his mouth before saying, “Just... about...” One stroke. Look at Rhodey's wrist. Two strokes. Big sigh. “There. Done.”

“ _Ooh_ I wanna see!” exclaimed Sam, bounding over from the arm-chair as Steve dropped the paint brush into the cup of golden water. Bucky and Rhodey snapped their eyes open and giddily looked at the metal wrist.

Sam inhaled in delight and Steve smiled proudly as Bucky shifted his arm, flashing silver and gold in the light. A golden Mark was snugly wrapped around his wrist, an exact copy of the one on Rhodey's. Rhodey squeezed his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

None of them could tear their eyes off of it, until they noticed that Bucky was breathing kind of funny. When they looked up, they saw that his eyes were wet.

“Bucky,” Steve began, softly, but Bucky shut him up by hugging him, careful not to let the wet paint touch anything. He pulled back and kissed Rhodey roughly before looking back at his Mark, _his Mark_.

"People have Marks," Rhodey said quietly.

They all cried.


	10. Day 10 - Deserted Island

Blinding light. Heat. The sensation of falling. Darkness. Then, there was a pressure on his chest and his lungs convulsed.

Rhodey surged upwards and turned to hack up the salt-water in his lungs onto sand that he couldn't actually see. His eyes burned, his head was pounding, and his ears were ringing, and he could feel something – a hand – resting heavily between his shoulder-blades. Finally, he coughed up the last few droplets and he could finally gasp in lungfuls of sea air.

“You know, I'm getting real tired of dragging loved-ones out of bodies of water,” a rough tenor deadpanned from somewhere above him; he looked up and saw Bucky, drenched and breathing heavily with his hair plastered to his face; he looked up further, and could still see the smoke-trails and falling burning debris of the Avengers's jet from where it was hit by a missile from the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

“Others,” Rhodey managed, surging upwards onto his feet. “Where are the others?” He frantically looked around and saw nothing but the small stretch of beach surrounding a jungle and endless stretches of ocean. He began walking.

“I don't know,” Bucky reported tersely; they were both making their way down the beach now, speed-walking, almost running. “I grabbed you, the cabin ruptured, we fell, the Hulk grabbed us, we hit the water, got separated, I got us to land, haven't seen anyone since first impact.”

Rhodey shook his head and kept scanning the jungle and the water in turns; all of them were dressed down, his and Tony's suits were stored in the back along with Wilson's wings, and the last he could remember was Steve throwing himself into the cockpit for Natasha and Clint and Thor moving towards Sam. Then- “There, another island.” He stopped and pointed. Bucky squinted.

There was a good stretch of water between the island they were on and the one he spotted, but Rhodey could faintly make out discolored lumps on the shore.

Bucky froze beside him and held his breath, waiting for something, before letting it out in a rush of relief. “It's Natasha and Clint, they're okay.” His face twisted in worry. “I don't see Steve.”

“Tony?” Rhodey asked single-mindedly.

“Don't see him,” Bucky reported, and at that they continued their trotting down the beach. Very quickly, they saw another island in the distance – or, more accurately, they saw a large green Hulk on an island in the distance, next to a tall pale-skinned figure in a shiny helmet and a smaller figure with dark skin. From what they could see, it looked like Thor and Sam were trying to calm down the Hulk, who was pacing frantically up and down the beach front.

Rhodey had a hunch. Carefully, he tucked two fingers into his mouth and let out a loud, piercing whistle. The Hulk paused, looked up, and let out a happy roar. Bucky lifted his arms and waved as Thor and Sam caught on and hurried down to the water-front.

Thor gingerly set Mjolnir down, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed, “ _My friends! It's good to see you are well!_ ”

Rhodey cupped his own hands to project, “ _Same for you! Have you seen Tony and Steve?_ ”

“ _Nay! What of Natasha and Clint?_ ”

“ _They're fine!_ ”

Sam joined in by yelling, “ _We can all split-up and look!_ ”

“ _Great!_ ” Rhodey yelled back, just as he thought his voice was about to go out; he and Bucky continued their circle of the island while Sam and Thor began walking down their own stretch of beach and the Hulk went into the jungle.

Neither Rhodey nor Bucky had any idea exactly how big their island was; they only knew that the curves of the beach were inconsistent and that the jungle provided no convenient landmarks. Finally – after what seemed like hours of anxious walking and searching – Bucky spotted a round red, white, and blue object in the distance, accompanied by a big soggy blond man and the short profile of Tony in a half-assembled Iron Man suit. Apparently, both groups spotted each other at the same time, because Tony spun on his heel and shouted “ _Yo!_ ” across the way.

Both Rhodey and Bucky seemed to deflate in staggering relief; they were all alive – no one was dead or missing or even hurt. Expectantly, Bucky turned to Rhodey, only to be met with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

“I'm not yelling to them, if that's what you're thinking,” Rhodey huffed.

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “What, so you're gonna make _me_ yell?”

“Yes.”

“I don't yell.”

“You do now.”

Steve beat him to the punch anyway by yelling, “ _Are you two all right?_ ”

Grumbling, Bucky straightened up, cupped his hands, and yelled, “ _Fine! And how are you?_ ”

“ _Water-logged and pissed off!_ ” Tony hollered as Steve opened his mouth. Steve turned to look at him, and if they couldn't see his face, they could still make (very accurate) guesses as to his expression.

“ _Are the others okay?_ ” Steve continued.

“ _We're all good, but split up!_ ” Bucky answered. There was a pause as both sides considered what was worth yelling about, when Bucky called, “ _Any sign of missile people?_ ”

“ _No!_ ”

Tony yelled, “ _I'm gonna fly over and-_ ”

“Hell _you are!_ ” Rhodey chimed in. Bucky side-eyed him with dry amusement.

Tony lifted his arms in a 'what gives' gesture, and Steve had the _audacity_ to yell, “ _I'll be with him!_ ”

Rhodey and Bucky turned to each other and exchanged mutual Looks. “ _Oh come on!_ ” Tony hollered.

“ _We know nothing about-_ ” Rhodey countered as Bucky yelled “ _We're in no state to-_ ”

“ _We should regroup, then!_ ” Steve interrupted, but paused when Tony tapped him on the shoulder and began talking animatedly. He listened carefully at first, then crossed his arms, then straightened and began talking back, and they watched this exchange for several long minutes until Steve turned back and warily announced, “ _We're all gonna sit tight!_ ”

Rhodey mouthed 'What' while Bucky yelled, “ _What?_ ”

“ _Wait 'till extraction! That's an order!_ ”

Bucky crossed his arms and frowned while Rhodey blinked, shook his head, and yelled, “ _You expect us to share this with the others?_ ”

“ _I'd appreciate it!_ ” Steve replied, with enough grace to sound somewhat apologetic.

“Our island just _had_ to be the one in the middle,” Rhodey grumbled as they turned away and Tony and Steve returned to doing whatever Tony and Steve did when they were stranded on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Hopefully, Not Die.

“I'm getting a drink before I do anymore yelling,” Bucky announced, then primly began marching towards the jungle. Rhodey had no objections, and joined him.

–

That night, after all the message-relaying was done (this included having to talk Thor out of siccing a hurricane on their wrong-doers and/or taking them all to Asgard), Rhodey was busy slinging up two make-shift hammocks made out of cross-stitched vines between two pairs of thick trees while Bucky sat by the fire and carefully carved a fishing-spear with a knife he produced from... somewhere. Both men had been sweating quite steadily for a while now, and their stomachs growled often in complaint. At least they found several coconuts which they were able to bust open and drink from, seeing as they had yet to make any means of boiling water from the stream they found further inland.

When Rhodey finished tying the last knot, securing his hammock in place, he shimmied onto it then promptly stripped off his shoes and socks to shake the sand out. “I wish we had a tarp,” he grumbled. “I can do so many things with a tarp.”

Bucky hummed his acknowledgment as he continued his peaceful task of carving. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

“I don't know what we're going to do if it rains,” Rhodey continued to muse, slipping his socks back on. “Head further inland, maybe? This nook we're in now is good enough to keep us away from the jungle pests, but it's not very concealed from any on-lookers from the ocean or the elements.”

“Usually when stranded on a deserted island you'd try and draw as much attention to your position as you could,” Bucky commented; he stopped his carving and rotated the spear in his hand, inspecting the sharp tip.

“Except there's a lot of attention that we'd rather not attract,” Rhodey finished dryly. He slipped his shoes back on and tied the laces. Of all things, he was in tennis shoes, khaki-pants, and a polo-shirt. It was horrible. Well – at least it wasn't as horrible as Bucky's get-up was. The man had long since shed his boots, socks, and thin hoodie and abandoned them to a pile against a tree. He now walked around in nothing but his stiff blue-jeans that turned rigid after drying out from the salt-water, making him look like he was constantly two-seconds from shucking them off too. It made for quite the spectacle, and Rhodey frequently had to rein himself in when he caught his eyes roaming over his teammate's chest or catching on his scars or lingering on his working back-muscles.

“So does this mean that we're on an unplanned tropical vacation?” Bucky prompted with the shadow of a grin as he stood up and leaned the spear against one of the trees holding up his hammock. He immediately rolled into said hammock and crossed his ankles to relax.

Rhodey snorted. “I'm hot, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I feel disgusting, we saw a huge spider earlier, and someone wants to kill us. This is a pretty shitty vacation.”

Bucky shrugged. “It's my only vacation.”

Rhodey looked over to meet his gaze and quirked an eyebrow. “You never took a vacation before?”

“Does sick leave count?”

“No, it doesn't.”

Bucky smirked. “Then no, I haven't.”

Rhodey slowly leaned back into his hammock and crossed his arms behind his head. “Next chance I get, I'm taking you with me to Maine.”

He heard Bucky shift to look at his face. “Why?”

Rhodey stretched and resisted a yawn. “You need some proper R&R. I have a residence up there that I go to when I need some peace and quiet and for things to go... slow. It'll be great – we can go fishing, hiking, golfing, horseback riding, you name it.”

“You'll just – invite me to come with you, because, what? I don't take vacations?”

Rhodey finally looked over and saw his skeptical expression. “Well, that and because I enjoy your company. We get along quite well, wouldn't you agree?”

Bucky looked puzzled for a moment – but only for a moment. “Yeah, we do. But... why not take – someone else? Why not Tony?”

Rhodey barked out a laugh. “What part of Tony says 'peace' 'quiet' and 'slow'?”

“Well, why not Bruce, then? Or Steve – Steve can be quiet. Or – Sam! Sam's perfect!”

Rhodey sat up on an elbow so he could give the man a chastising glare. “Bucky, this is a _personalized_ invitation for you and _only_ you to accompany me on a peaceful retreat away from unclean water and bad guys with missiles.”

Bucky blinked up at him, looking lost, before something shifted in his expression and it turned warm and admiring and private. He sat up and crossed his legs – with some resistance from the jeans – and said, “I'll take first watch tonight. You get some rest.”

Rhodey quietly accepted his victory and nodded. “Wake me up in five hours or so.”

“All right.”

Rhodey turned away and onto his side, closed his eyes, then tried to let the gentle crackling of the fire, the soft sigh of the ocean, and his friend's watchful presence at his back lull him to sleep.

–

Rhodey woke up to the feeling of sunshine shining on his face.

He sat up quickly, causing his hammock to tip and dump him into the sand. He huffed, got to his feet, and looked around; the fire was very small, but still going, and the spear and Bucky were gone.

“'All right' my ass,” he muttered, untying his shoe-laces and tugging off his shoes and socks. When they were neatly set beside one of his trees, he marched straight down the beach and towards the ocean.

There he found Bucky waded into the water up to his knees, still shoeless and shirtless, and his jeans torn into make-shift denim shorts. He was standing perfectly still, letting the tide lap around his legs as he stood poised with the spear, waiting for a fish.

“What happened to the five hours?” he asked sharply when the water was washing over his feet.

“You'll scare the fish,” Bucky chastised quietly. Rhodey crossed his arms and waited for Bucky to look over and see his livid expression; when he did, he rightly and properly looked cowed. “I wasn't tired, so I didn't see the point in waking you,” he said defensively.

“All right,” Rhodey said mildly; Bucky looked satisfied. “But I hope you know this means you'll be sleeping all night tonight.”

Bucky looked up at him sharply. “No, you don't have to-”

“Oh, but I do.”

Bucky's mouth formed a thin line and he narrowed his eyes. Rhodey never broke his disapproving-stance. Tense, Bucky looked back to the water and said, clipped, “You scared the fish away.”

“Good.” Except no, not good, because his stomach was starting to _hurt_ with how hungry he was.

Bucky stood rigid in the water for about ten more seconds before he looked over and said, “You wanna have a go at this?”

“Sure.” Bucky grudgingly traipsed out of the water and back onto the shore before shoving the spear in his hands and gesturing him towards the ocean. Rhodey gave him a dry look before he waded in to a different spot, found a good footing, lifted the spear, and waited.

Everyone always told him he had the patience of a saint – you had to, if you claimed Tony Stark as your best friend – and so the task at hand was actually quite nice. It was all about waiting, timing, and speed – stay perfectly still until a fish wanders into range, and then stab down as fast and as hard as you can. Easy enough. Except no, it really wasn't.

A fish slowly swam towards Rhodey's legs, and when it was in _just_ the right position, he stabbed viciously downwards. The fish darted away and the spear came back up empty. He frowned.

“You scared the fish away,” said Bucky quietly from the shore, mostly to himself.

“I heard that,” Rhodey scolded; Bucky chuckled. Carefully, he eased himself back into stabbing position and waited a little while for another fish to come close. When it did – he stabbed downwards again, making a big splash, but the spear came up empty and another shadow fled. Bucky chuckled again. “Shush,” Rhodey huffed. Bucky bit his lip in amusement. And so, Rhodey waited yet again, and after a slightly longer while, another fish – smaller than the last – swam right into range. He stabbed down with all the force of his hunger, but it came up empty.

Bucky laughed and began wading in toward him. “Maybe I can help-?” he prompted.

Rhodey fixed him with a stern look. “I don't need some scruffy George of the Jungle in hand-made daisy dukes telling me how to spear-fish.”

Bucky paused only long enough to ask, “Is that the naked guy lathered in oil?” before sidling up behind him.

Rhodey blinked away the imagery of that enough to ask, “Since when did you see that movie?” while lowering his aching arms and standing upright.

Bucky smiled. “Parts. I saw parts of it. When Natasha was showing it to Steve.”

“Apparently the most important parts,” Rhodey said offhandedly. Surprisingly, instead of huffing or laughing, Bucky did a deep, pleased, “Mmm” noise, and that did it. He laughed.

“It's going to be noon by the time we eat at this rate,” Bucky complained, but he was grinning; Rhodey knocked his elbow back against his abdomen to prompt him into doing something. “Okay, here's what we do-” Bucky announced, then put a hand on Rhodey's thigh and eased it back, then gently pushed on his knee to get it to bend, then wrapped his arms around his shoulders – cool metal and warm skin – to hold his wrists and stood poised with him to strike.

“Now we wait,” Bucky murmured against his ear, and that was when Rhodey realized that he was going to have to stand stock still pressed flush up against an almost-naked Bucky Barnes. He thanked his lucky stars that he blushed with grace.

They both inhaled and held their breath when a hefty-sized fish ventured close. It swam closer – and closer – then further away – then closer again – and -

Bucky adjusted their aim minutely before he whispered, “ _Now._ ”

Fish for brunch never tasted so good.

–

That evening, after snacking on some guavas and collecting rainwater in large bowl-like leaves from a convenient raincloud that came in and out like a lamb, Bucky asked, “You wanna skinny-dip?”

Rhodey blinked. “Um.” He looked at the declining sun. “Well, I guess we have an hour or so.”

Bucky rolled out of his hammock and looked at him with a smirk. “You wanna race down to the water?”

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, let the Air Force guy race the _super-soldier_.”

Bucky blinked, then looked put-out. “Right. Sorry. Guess I'm used to Steve.”

“Oh, it's fine,” Rhodey shrugged, rolling out of his own hammock to pull off his shirt. “You should see me in any sport against Tony. I whoop his ass.”

“Oh?” Bucky prodded, politely looking away when Rhodey unbuttoned his pants – _Really?_ Rhodey thought.

“He couldn't stand after one particular game of tennis,” Rhodey reported, pulling the zipper down and pulling off his pants and briefs in one fell swoop. Bucky was still dutifully staring at the ocean as he stepped out of them.

“I'd really like to see that,” Bucky replied evenly, then jumped in surprise when Rhodey tucked a finger into the waist of his jeans/shorts and snapped them against his hip, and when he looked up Rhodey was tearing off towards the water, yelling “ _Race ya!_ ” over his shoulder.

“ _You-!_ ” Bucky barked, then frantically shoved off what little clothing he had on before sprinting after him.

Rhodey tried, he really did, and he almost made it to the waterline when Bucky shot past and lunged into the water with a giant splash. Rhodey jumped in a second later, and when they both popped their heads up above the water, laughing, Rhodey splashed him in retaliation.

They swam and dived for the better part of the hour, occasionally sneaking up and splashing each other, which came to a head with an outright splash-war that only ended when Rhodey clambered onto Bucky's back and they dived down in a tangle of limbs before swimming back up to the surface. They both gasped in air, then promptly started giggling as the sun began to set, casting the sky in glorious pinks and reds and oranges and throwing their faces in curious mixes of light and shadow.

Rhodey smiled, radiant, and the skin around his eyes crinkled, and the sunlight made his irises almost shine amber, and there was a droplet of water running along his nose, and when he said, “I think I finally got off all that guava juice,” he was so perfect that Bucky drifted forward and kissed him.

Rhodey stilled, then brought a hand up to cup the back of his head and thread his fingers through his hair as he kissed back, with warm presses and soft sighs and small exploratory nibbles before they pulled away and _looked_ at each other. The last rays of the sun sank below the horizon, leaving only the burning sky in its wake, and the rest of the world faded to hues of purples and grays.

Rhodey blinked, and smiled, and took in Bucky's wide-eyed look of quiet hope and said, “Yeah?”

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah.”

Rhodey pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay.” And they swam back to shore.

–

Rhodey kept his earlier vow, and stayed up all night. Bucky slept soundly from his position draped over him; legs entwined, head tucked beneath his chin.

–

Fury's extraction team picked them all up at 0900 the next morning, and none of them could quite keep the shock off their faces when they witnessed the Avengers in various states of disarray – Captain America and Iron Man had somehow lost their shirts and walked on-board covered in dried mud; Black Widow and Hawkeye showed up in nothing but their underwear; Thor, Dr. Banner, and the Falcon were all naked except for red skirts seemingly crafted from Thor's cape; and the Winter Soldier carried a sleeping and impeccably-dressed War Machine bridal-style on-board while wearing nothing but jean short-shorts.


	11. Day 11 - Meet in a Dream

The worst thing that could have happened, happened.

The War Machine suit was hacked. It was hacked, and Rhodey was in it, and he couldn't get out. It was hacked, and it was in the middle of a crowd of civilians at the Stark Expo. It was hacked, and it was firing into the crowd.

The whole suit was vibrating with the force of the burst rounds and Rhodey could hear everyone screaming and see everyone running but it was panic and pandemonium – the causeways were too narrow and people were tripping and falling and getting trampled, and the suit was mowing them down in waves.

These people weren't some terror cell, they were _civilians_ , and people were _dying_ and Rhodey couldn't – he couldn't – think straight, there was an all-encompassing roar of static in his head that kept shrieking _no_ and _please_ and _stop_ , and he tried everything that he could possibly think of. “Manual Override Protocol 3275-!” he yelled into his helmet, but his screens just flashed red with a blunt COMMAND OVERRIDDEN, and the suit calmly walked in pursuit of the panicking – and gradually thinning – herd.

Rhodey settled for just trying to disrupt it, then – he locked his knees and violently jerked his arms in desperate attempts to throw off the suit's aim, and when he deemed that wasn't enough, he tried to rock forward and backward or side to side to tip it over. The suit, however, weighed more than him, and it had excellent joint support and an enhanced balance matrix, so his efforts were moot.

That was when he heard a little scream of _“Mommy!”_ and the suit turned, and there was a little boy running back to his fallen mother and he heard the suit prime and no, no, _no_ -

Rhodey slammed his eyes shut and felt the suit fire, ratata, before continuing stalking towards the crowd.

Then, mercifully, he felt something blast into him and knock one of his shoulder-plates off-line. He forced his eyes open and there, yes, the Iron Man suit, and Tony, and they could _fix this_. Tony raised his gauntlets in an almost placating gesture as the suit rushed him; Tony fired a repulsor beam that hit Rhodey in the side and the suit jerked and twisted. That was when Tony decided to tackle him and the suit, of all things. They fell to the ground, and Rhodey felt the clang reverberate around him, and he saw his screens put all focus towards Tony's raised hand that looked to be holding some kind of signal disruptor.

_Finish it_ , Rhodey urged, but then the suit grabbed Tony by the neck and flipped them. It used its free gauntlet to fire a beam directly into his hand, obliterating the signal disruptor and making Tony flinch, and then it – no no nonono – grabbed Tony by the helmet and slammed it repeatedly into the ground until there was a hole in the asphalt. Rhodey was hysterical, now – writhing in the suit, trying to roll it off him, trying to give Tony any sort of edge, but no. The suit grabbed Tony's face plate, tore it off in one violent gesture, and then Rhodey was staring into Tony's face as his free gauntlet primed itself right over him.

It was like everything was in slow motion. The light of the primed gauntlet fell over Tony's terrified face, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream, and the suit he was in was milliseconds from blowing his best friend's face off and forcing him to watch, and suddenly Rhodey was envisioning with every atom of his being that he was _out_ of the _damn suit_ and that everything would _stop_.

He wasn't aware of anything except the booming of his heartbeat in his head and the ringing in his ears at first. Then he blinked, and sucked in a ragged gasp, and realized that he was standing in the middle of the road, out of the suit, with the world completely frozen – people hung suspended in mid-run, falling debris sat frozen in time, and the War Machine suit and Tony were as still as mannequins. In the next second, Rhodey's memory came slamming back into him, and he stumbled over to the gutter on shaking legs and retched.

The Avengers had been sent after some kind of – well, nobody knew what it was. All anybody knew about it was that the two sightings – one in India, one in Germany – of the thing described it as some sort of pale spectre, usually spotted the day before an entire village died in their sleep. SHIELD, when not calling it “Subject 641,” called it “the Banshee.” (Rogers had a lot to say about that. Everybody had a lot to say about that, really, but Steve was the one that sat them all down and retold the stories that his mother told him. “They're not monsters,” he explained, a bit testy. “If anything, they're more like... notice letters. If you hear one wailing, it just means that a loved one's death is near.” “Oh,” laughed Tony, voice strained. “That makes me feel much better.”)

Whatever the thing was, Fury thought the Avengers had a much better chance of eluding and eliminating it than a team of agents. That was how they all ended up in the French countryside in “deep cover” (Rhodey didn't know how Thor could ever be disguised), split up and spread across a network of small towns to wait and observe and keep their eyes peeled for any sign of a pale spectre. The moment one of them did, they were to call it in, and the Avengers would assemble immediately to hunt down whatever was murdering whole towns.

It was Sam who called it in, and they all rendezvoused as soon as they could, geared up, and began patrolling as soon as the sun set. For ten hours, they stalked around the town, but there was absolutely nothing out of ordinary. The sun rose, and not a single citizen died. The Avengers were forced to cluster back up and move on in bewildered and exhausted wariness. (“I swear to you,” Sam said, gravely. “I saw it. Deathly pale, slightly glowy, long grey hair, a vale, the works. I know I did.” Bruce reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, then said, “It's quite possible that whatever – or whoever – this is is deliberately changing their pattern to throw us off. We don't doubt you.”) They all found a place to fall asleep, and then... blankness.

No, not blankness, _this_. A nightmare if Rhodey ever had one, and a powerful one to boot – he could feel the asphalt against the palms of his hands and smell the fire in the air. He looked back over at Tony, frozen mid-scream while pinned to the ground, and felt the urge to scramble over and drag him out – but no. He had to be some sort of illusion – everything had to be. Now the questions were simply _what exactly was he dealing with_ and _where the hell were the others?_

Still shaking, Rhodey clambered up to his feet and tried to get himself under control. Once he could breath through his nose, he began walking for a bit in an aimless wander through abandoned streets. Then he decided to try something.

Rhodey tried to imagine a ball. He bit his lip and thought, _A big bouncy-ball is going to fall right in front of me._

When nothing happened, he down-sized and tried harder. _A basket-ball is going to fall right in front of me._

Still nothing. Rhodey closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then pictured as clearly as he could a baseball – the worn texture, the dirty stitches, the faded white and red – bouncing in front of him.

His eyes shot open when he heard a soft, muffled, _thud_ – _thud_ – _thud_. A baseball, exactly how he pictured it, was bouncing solemnly in place on the asphalt in front of him in an endless loop.

Good. This was good. Not only did this mean that he was in his own head, but this also meant that he – at least to some degree – was lucid dreaming and could control his surroundings. Maybe.

That brought up another thought – when he snapped out of the nightmare, why didn't he wake up? Or could he? Feeling determined, Rhodey stood up straight and thought, _Wake up_. He blinked, but he was still outside in an abandoned street of New York at night with a baseball bouncing infinitely on asphalt. He tried snapping his fingers. He tried pinching himself, then slapping. He dropped and did a push-up, but still the frozen city and bouncing ball remained.

He definitely was not wholly in control. So – what or who was, and were the others in the same boat?

Rhodey licked his lips and looked around. The buildings around him looked like apartment duplexes, so he warily walked down the sidewalk towards one, climbed up the steps, and opened the door.

It took a little while for his eyes to adjust enough to see what exactly was inside, even with it being nighttime in New York behind him, and what he saw was ugly deep green wallpaper and musty wooden floors illuminated by horrible dim, yellow lighting. He frowned, then looked over his shoulder back out into the empty street where the world was frozen in the middle of a massacre. Faintly, he could still hear the baseball bouncing on the asphalt. He then poked his head into the doorway and looked left, then right; it seemed to be a very long – impossibly long – hallway. He leaned out of the door and looked at the apartment building's width, then poked his head back in, and firmly deemed that it was not physically possible for the hallway to exist. Therefore, he stepped across the barrier of the door and into the dim hallway.

The door slammed shut behind him, and when he whirled around there was no door – only wall. He blinked rapidly a few times, then cautiously glanced down the lengths of the hallway again, and oh, no. The longer he stared down the hall to the furthest points, the more the walls seemed to slowly shift and expand – like they were breathing.

“Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this,” he whispered to himself, and stared resolutely down at the floor and his shoes until the nausea faded. When he gathered the willpower to look up again, he casually envisioned the lights getting brighter and the hallway shifting into something more reminiscent of the Tower. Nothing changed.

So. He could not control this part. Fine, that was fine. He began walking, only looking up enough to see where he was going and if there were any horrific monsters waiting patiently for him to bump into their chests. Eventually, when he glanced up he saw a large wooden door looming nearer and nearer, strong and seemingly made of hard oak. When he came to within a few feet of it, he stopped and held his breath. The hallway remained as quiet as the grave, and nothing moved. Slowly, carefully, he stepped forward and pressed his ear to the door. Silence. He stepped back, steeled himself, grabbed the knob, and slowly pushed it open.

The moment so much as a sliver of light filtered in around the door, Rhodey's ears were assaulted by the sound of a loud bass roaring noise accompanied by the shrill screech of alarms. He pushed the door open fully and it was so bright his eyes hurt. He blinked, hard, and through the doorway he saw the cracked and burning interior of what seemed to be a crashing helicarrier. He processed fire, flashing red lights, smoke, the shaky view of the ground – more specifically, the Potomac – outside the windows, and that the craft was entirely lopsided.

Rhodey bit his lip and weighed the benefits of going in. He looked over his shoulder again, down the length of the hallway – the creepy, breathing hallway – and, yes, he figured there was another door at the other end, and there was absolutely no other way out, but he wasn't fond of the thought of walking all the way down to the other end to see what the other door had inside, and he figured that if he had to endure a maze of nightmares, he might as well get on with it. Rhodey turned around and carefully stepped over the barrier, and almost immediately, gravity shifted; he slipped, fell, and tumbled, barely processing the sound of a slamming door, until he fell onto a support-beam. He clung on, caught his breath, and tried to reorient himself. It was then that he looked down towards the windows and saw two shapes – one dark, one colorful. His eyes focussed, and then his heart leapt up into his throat.

Right below him were Steve and Bucky, only everything was wrong wrong _wrong_. Most immediately and alarmingly wrong was that Steve lay sprawled across the glass in his 40s-era uniform, with a large scarlet bloom drowning the stripes over his stomach, and his _face_ – he – he didn't have one.

The image of Steve's head caved in in a pool of blood made Rhodey's stomach convulse again; he shut his eyes and looked away, took a deep breath, and reined himself in. He forced his eyes open and looked back, this time making himself look at Bucky.

Bucky was also not dressed in what he fell asleep in – he was in his old Winter Soldier uniform, his hair was dry and tangled instead of silky and even, and the star on his metal arm was red instead of white. More telling was how he was sitting – his knees were pulled tight to his chest, where he hid his face. His right arm he cradled delicately against his side, while his left hung limply. Rhodey could see bits of... Steve... still hanging onto the knuckles. When the helicarrier wasn't shuddering, he could make out his shoulders hitching minutely.

All signs pointed to this being Bucky's nightmare.

Rhodey was consumed with the need to get down there. He glanced about and spotted that his support beam was attached to another one that he might be able to use to shimmy down to glass-level. Quickly, he scurried across the beam, grabbed onto the rim of the support, and eased himself down as fast as he dared. When his feet hit the glass, he took off in Bucky's direction, vaulting over fallen beams and various other debris, leaping over holes, and dodging shards of broken glass.

“Hey, Bucky, look, it's me!” he called when he was about ten feet away, and stopped. The helicarrier gave a great shudder again as an explosion rocked its body, and when the rumbling stopped, Rhodey could see that Bucky's shoulders weren't hitching anymore. “Look. Look at me. Hey,” he urged, hoping his voice wasn't too harsh over the sound of the alarm. Bucky still didn't move, and Rhodey didn't know which possibility he disliked more – that Bucky was another illusion, or that he fell full-back onto the Winter Soldier's programming.

He doubted the second one more than the first, so he moved forward until he was right beside him, then kneeled down. “Bucky,” he said, as clear as he could, six inches away from his face. Bucky ever-so-slightly lifted his head to peer at him with wide, confused eyes from the shadows of his hair and his knees. “You listen to me, now. _None of this is real_ ,” Rhodey said, with every ounce of sincerity and authority that his Colonel-hood gave him. Bucky didn't so much as blink; he just kept peering up at him in disbelief. Rhodey set his jaw. “Look down,” he ordered. When Bucky only leaned back slightly, he stood up and motioned for the man to join him. “Stand up and look down at the ground.”

Bucky leaned back away from his knees and continued staring, slack-jawed, with bruises, blood, and tear-tracks on his face. He looked the very definition of 'out of it,' and only then did it occur to Rhodey that Bucky might be a bit hysterical.

Rhodey lifted his eyebrows and extended his arms to help pull him up. Bucky eyed them warily, before carefully lifting his left arm and placing the forearm into Rhodey's hand, taking great care to angle the gore-caked hand away from his skin. Rhodey hauled him up onto his feet, firmly grasped him by the shoulders, pulled him against his side, and pointedly looked down through the glass. Bucky followed his gaze. “You see the ground?” Rhodey prompted. Bucky nodded. “Is it coming any closer?” Bucky slowly blinked, then twitched his head 'no.' “That's because this helicarrier isn't crashing. It's falling in the same arc forever. Falling forever isn't possible. We're dreaming, Bucky. This isn't real, and you can make it all stop any time you want to. You're in control.”

Bucky dragged his eyes over to dream-Steve's mutilated dead body, then back at the static ground below the eternally-falling helicarrier, then finally up to meet Rhodey's wide, beseeching eyes.

Suddenly, Bucky and Rhodey began falling _upwards_ – at least it seemed like they were – while the helicarrier continued falling downwards. The ceiling of the helicarrier came rocketing straight towards them and Rhodey was sure they were going to hit it when they _phased through_ it – causing Bucky to have an impromptu wardrobe change, at that – and when Rhodey looked around again they were suspended in mid-air far above the Potomac as the helicarrier continued its rapid descent towards the ground.

Then the blue sky slowly began bleaching itself paler and paler until they were both in nothing but a white void, and Bucky tore away from him to stumble off and fall back to his knees where he took to shaking and gasping and dry-heaving on an invisible floor.

Rhodey frowned in concern, then eased himself over and down beside him for support. Bucky continued shaking and breathing heavily, repeatedly running his right hand over the clean knuckles of his metal arm. He was back in his sweater and jeans that Rhodey thought made him look like an old man, his hair was pulled back into the pony-tail he kept it in, and Rhodey was certain that if he pulled the sweater down there would be a white star ensconced in blue and red on his metal bicep.

“I'm sorry if I was hard on you back there,” Rhodey eased. “You were pretty out of it, and I don't think coddling would've helped you.”

Bucky leaned back onto his heels, breathed in deeply, and clamped his right hand down firmly onto one of Rhodey's knees. He let his breath out in a rush and said, “S'fine.” Then, “It wouldn't.”

As Bucky continued pulling himself together, Rhodey looked uneasily around the white void until – ah. A large, wooden door made of hard oak stood ominously about twenty feet behind them.

Bucky's shaking died down to the faintest tremble, and then he turned to see what Rhodey was looking at. He blinked, then stood. “So,” he drawled, “care to fill me in?”

Rhodey took his offered hand up and said, “I honestly don't know. The only thing I can tell you is that I was in my worst nightmare, about to blast Tony's face off, and the next moment when I pictured it all stopping, it did. Then I slowly figured out I was dreaming and walked through a door that led to a long creepy hallway, and I followed that until I saw a door exactly like that one, and on the other side of it was you.” Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly at the door. “Of course,” Rhodey continued, side-eyeing him, “I can give you a few guesses as to what's going on.”

Bucky looked like he was rapidly piecing something together in his head, then his eyes slid over to Rhodey's. “So we're all dreaming, only we all start out trapped in our worst nightmares, and we may or may not all be connected by some sort of networking hallway?”

“It looks like we didn't need to find our big bad after all,” Rhodey mused, by way of affirmation. He looked back at the door. “The big bad found us.”

Bucky crossed his arms and squared up the door, then donned a dry smirk. “So all we have to do is go out, find the others, intrude on their worst fears in a massive invasion of privacy, and hope that once we're all lucid we can somehow break through whatever this is and not all die in our sleep?”

“Pretty much,” Rhodey shrugged.

Bucky hummed, then strode confidently towards the door. “Best get to it, then.” Rhodey came up behind him as he carefully opened the door and blinked at the green wallpaper directly in front of him.

“Great, so it looks like the hallway moves around,” Rhodey sighed.

Bucky glanced at him, then stepped through. Rhodey squeezed past the door-frame at the same time, and the moment they were both through, the door slammed shut. Bucky whirled around to look at more ruddy wall-paper, and Rhodey smiled humorlessly.

Bucky caught him in the act and quirked an eyebrow. “Let me guess, you're going to tell me to look down the hallway and see some other horrible creepy thing.”

Rhodey's smile grew tighter. “If you stare off in the distance you can see the walls breathe.”

Bucky stared at him blankly. “Of course they do,” he muttered bitterly, then, against his better judgment, stared off down the length of the hallway. Two seconds passed, then five, then he stepped back and knocked against Rhodey's chest.

“Creepy bullshit?” Rhodey prompted.

“Creepy bullshit,” Bucky agreed, looking down and away and over to him. “Should we split up so we can cover more ground? I go left and you go right?”

Rhodey considered for a moment. “If we both split up and form groups, there's no guarantee that we'll meet up again. This place could be infinitely big, as far as we know, and there's only nine of us.”

Bucky mulled it over. “There's also no guarantee that someone other than you snapped out of it and is also launching their own rescue mission.”

“Then would it hinder or help if we split up?” Rhodey prompted.

Warily, Bucky's eyes inched back over to stare off down the length of the hallway again. He watched the walls expand and contract for a beat before saying, “Hinder.”

Rhodey knocked his shoulder against Bucky's metal one. “Then I say we get going,” he announced, before starting off left. Bucky stuck close to his side. Rhodey tried to ignore the fact that there was a little spring in his step because of that fact.

They walked for a short while, coming ever closer to the door in the distance, but something that Bucky said wouldn't quite leave Rhodey alone.

Bucky looked over at him and stopped. Rhodey stopped a few steps past him and turned to look. Bucky frowned. “You slowed,” Bucky explained. “What are you thinking about?”

Rhodey looked down, then back up to his face. “When you were laying out what we had to do, you used the words 'massive invasion of privacy.' What I saw back there... in your head...” Rhodey rubbed the back of his neck, then looked him straight in the eye. “That wasn't for me to see.”

Bucky crossed his arms and leaned back on his foot. He took a long moment to look Rhodey up and down, carefully considering something, before he calmly met his gaze. “There are four people on this good green Earth who I would allow anywhere near my head,” he began, slowly. “Their names are Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, and James Rhodes.” Rhodey straightened, and Bucky uncrossed his arms. “You're a good man. You've always been kind and supportive. You never treated me like a paper swan or a landmine, and you've been open and frank with me. That means something.” Bucky drew himself up to his full height, then, and hesitated a moment before reaching forward and gently placing his right hand on Rhodey's chest, over his heart. Rhodey glanced down a moment before meeting his eye. “I trust you.” He paused to let the full weight of it sink in, then said, “So this is me saying, 'Don't worry about it.'”

Rhodey knew that something special just happened, and he wanted to say, 'Thank you,' but instead he smiled softly and said, “Okay.”

Rhodey reached down and squeezed Bucky's wrist a moment before they both continued down the hall and toward the next looming door.


	12. Day 12 - Arranged Marriage AU

Maria Hill spun around to face them in her chair, leaned forward onto her desk, steepled her hands, and smiled. “Gentlemen.”

“Director Hill,” Rhodey nodded. Bucky shifted awkwardly in the seat next to him.

“I thank you both for coming, and now I'm going to get right to it – I have a job for the two of you in Oregon.” She leaned back and pulled open a drawer, then handed them each a manilla folder. As they opened and perused the contents, she continued, “There have been a number of disappearances in the area – they're mostly elderly or single young adults – and at the scene of each disappearance there's been extremely high traces of electromagnetic fields.” She lost her smile when Rhodey met her eye and exchanged it for an annoyed frown. “There's been at least three 'ghost hunter' teams prowling around since this started up six months ago.”

“Ghosts,” Rhodey repeated, flatly.

Maria folded her hands in front of her. “We don't assume anything,” she deadpanned, with a quick quirk of her brows, “but we've analyzed the geographical location of the region, and if you look at the map provided in the back-” they both followed her instructions “-there's a small town at the epicenter named Wellsville. It's the only one that hasn't had a disappearance.”

Indeed, the map showed a blown-up political map of Oregon covered in red X-es. Looking at them all as a whole, they made a rough circle, and sitting quietly and unassumingly in the middle of it all was Wellsville. The statistics to the side listed its population at 1,092.

Bucky frowned at it for a second before looking up. “What do you want us to do?”

Maria sat up straight in her chair and lifted her chin. “This is going to be an undercover operation – you're going to move in and investigate the town, recover the victims if possible, and bring in whoever's behind it all. Your aliases should somehow ensure that you two live in the same household so neither of you fall victim; Agent Sitwell will set you up.”

Rhodey and Bucky both shared an uneasy look; Rhodey closed his folder and ventured, “If I may, ma'am... aren't there agents better, uh, _qualified_ than us for an undercover operation?”

Maria's mouth twisted and she idly tapped her fingers against the desk; after a few seconds, she let out a heavy sigh and admitted, “You're all I've got available.” When Rhodey rose a brow in question and Bucky tilted his head, she expanded. “All other agents are already dispatched, the Captain and the Widow are engaged in the Indian Ocean, Hawkeye's on assignment in Greenland, the Falcon's been assigned to Belgium, Dr. Banner's on leave with Dr. Ross, and that leaves...”

“...Stark and Thor?” Bucky finished, with a wry smile.

Maria returned it. “You're not the _worst_ I could do,” she granted. “SHIELD is running on a skeleton crew. We're understaffed and underfunded ever since the original was dissolved. In fact, there's a _back-log_...” she trailed off with a concerned frown at her desk, then looked back at them, jaw set. “As Director, I make due with whatever we have. Now, the question is, do you accept?”

Rhodey looked over at Bucky, who had gone back through the folder and was now staring at the photographs and newspaper clippings of the victims. His fingers trailed over the face of an old lady beaming beside a giant squash wearing a ribbon, then that of a young man sitting and laughing surrounded by dogs from what must have been a job at an animal shelter. At length, he closed the folder, looked up, and said, “Yes.”

“I accept,” Rhodey seconded.

Maria smiled, genuine. “Good. Agent Sitwell's office is two floors up; get your affairs in order, and you'll fly out in twenty-four hours.” Rhodey and Bucky both nodded, then rose and moved towards the door. Maria reopened her laptop; then, without looking up, she said, “Get it done, boys.”

They both looked over their shoulders. “Yes, ma'am.”

–

“We're getting _married?!_ ” Bucky looked like he was hit with a brick.

Sitwell laughed and angled his wheelchair towards him. “Interracial marriage in the state became legal in 1951, and same-sex marriage on May 19, 2014.” Bucky made the most perfect 'I knew that' face Rhodey had ever seen. Sitwell forged on, “And besides, it's only on paper, Bucky. You both can act, right? Unless...” his smile faltered, and doubt began clouding his face, “unless – this makes you uncomfortable, we can-”

Bucky waved him off and took a few seconds to look horribly conflicted before he met Rhodey's gaze and relaxed. “No, Jasper, no, it's fine, I just – wasn't expecting that, is all.” Sitwell looked over to check with Rhodey, and Rhodey gave him an easy-going shrug.

Rhodey had learned the harrowing story of Jasper Sitwell from a combination of sharing coffee with the man and from what Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky told him. Sitwell was a double-agent for SHIELD and HYDRA, but insisted that his allegiance was always to SHIELD. (“Do you know how many white-supremacist speeches I had to sit through with those thousand-headed mooks?” he hissed. Rhodey shook his head. “It was a lot. And I was standing right there. Right. There. I don't even know how I got in in the first place, honestly. No, you know what, I don't even know how anyone thought I was actually with them! Morons, all of them!”) In fact, Rhodey heard from Sam that when he, Steve, and Natasha found out that he was a double-agent and went to apologize to him at the hospital – he lost both his legs, had a dozen skin grafts, and suffered a short coma due to being thrown in front of a truck by, well, Bucky – he went on a long rant about “Haven't any of you read Harry Potter? Does Severus Snape ring a bell?! Snape, I tell you, I was a Snape, not a Pettigrew!” Sitwell later said that he was high on painkillers.

Rhodey's favorite story, however, was probably the one of how Sitwell and Bucky got on a first-name basis. Early-on in Bucky's recovery – during the same stretch when he was non-verbal, if Rhodey remembers the time-line right – Bucky showed up at the hospital carrying a card-board box. Sitwell pushed the panic button about fifty times. Bucky then approached the bed and dumped the box on top of him, and six fluffy kittens fell onto his chest. Ever since then, Sitwell declared that Bucky was his favorite.

Sitwell gave Bucky one last questioning look before he began rolling his wheel-chair around them and out the door. “If you two will follow me, I'll take you to the ID-room and we can hash together your aliases and back-stories.”

–

David Braddock (“That's a nice, strong name,” Rhodey mused) met Ivan Brennan (Bucky smiled. “I like it.”) when they were assigned to the same unit in Iraq. Through their hardships and the quiet moments, they slowly fell in love, but kept their feelings under wraps (“Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Now _there's_ a piece of crap legislation,” Sitwell huffed). Over the course of their tour, their convoy ran over an IED; Ivan took a brunt of shrapnel to his left side, and ended up honorably discharged with a purple heart. David continued serving admirably until he was honorably discharged in 2010. The two of them reunited in Portland, and promptly confessed their love for each other. They then entered into a loving relationship for five years until David proposed. Ivan said yes, and after six months of engagement, they married in Portland. They are now about to return after their honeymoon in New York City, to their new house in Wellsville (Sitwell showed them a picture of the house; it was a quaint little brick thing), where they hope to live quietly. Ivan works from home.

Sitwell forged them government documents and driver's licenses and insisted that they take at least three wedding photos and get them framed. This was how Tony found out about the _exact_ nature of their undercover arrangement.

“You're getting married and you didn't tell me?!” he demanded, bursting into the dressing-room-slash-office in a whirlwind of grandiose dramatics while Rhodey was finishing up putting on a tuxedo that Sitwell got from a rental company.

“You know that it's just a cover, Tony,” Rhodey drawled.

“A cover that deserves the _best_ because it involves my _best friend_ ,” Tony huffed; Rhodey could see him glaring at the tuxedo like it slapped him in the mirror. “And that tux looks like ass.”

“Hopefully a mighty fine ass,” Rhodey quipped, then tweaked his bow-tie.

“ _Ha_ ,” Tony deadpanned, then whipped out his phone. “Fine, so, wedding rings. I already narrowed down a few ideas-” he sidled up against his side “-okay! How about the Triton Black Diamond?” he shoved the screen between Rhodey's eyes and the mirror so that Rhodey was forced to look at the downright imposing wedding ring leering at him with a price-tag of $400, “Or the Diamond-Encrusted Tungsten?” another intimidating ring for $400, “Or – and this is the finale – the Diamond-Ringed 10K Gold!” a blindingly bright ring for $700. Rhodey rolled his eyes.

“I already got the rings!” Sitwell called down the hall from where he was fussing with Bucky the next room over. “They're stainless steel! I got them both off the internet for twenty bucks!”

Tony let out a single falsetto note.

“We're supposed to be a middle-class couple,” Rhodey explained tiredly, patting his sleeves. It would do. “I don't know of any middle-class people who would spend fourteen-hundred dollars on their wedding rings, and besides, SHIELD's on a tight budget.”

“That's no excuse!” Tony spread his arms. “If they'd just come to _me_ I'd give them all the funding they could ever want!”

“I'm sure the secret former government agency would be thrilled at being funded by a corporation,” Rhodey sighed.

Tony wagged a finger in his face. “I resent that, I'll have you know. My company is the goodiest of the goody-two-shoes a corporation in America can get.”

Sitwell rolled past the door, then, and looked in. His eyebrows rose and he gave a quick whistle. “You look nice, Rhodes. You ready for the camera?”

“As ready as I'm gonna get,” Rhodey shrugged. He maneuvered around Tony and into the hallway, and when he caught sight of Bucky, he couldn't help but freeze.

The man looked... _good_. He was clean-shaven, his hair was nice and soft-looking and neatly combed back, and seeing him in a form-fitting tux was the first time Rhodey had seen him in something that wasn't either his combat uniform or baggy clothes.

If Rhodey wasn't so distracted, he also would've noticed that Bucky's eyes widened and dilated, that his lips parted slightly, and that his breathing grew deeper. Tony noticed, however, and that's why he said, “Are you _sure_ you two aren't getting married?”

It was a fight to tear his eyes off of his faux-husband, but Rhodey managed to say, “Yes, I'm sure,” just as Sitwell handed him the used envelope holding the rings.

–

David and Ivan Brennan-Braddock arrived safely to the Portland airport wrapped around each other and beaming all the while. They then picked up a rented truck, swung by a storage unit, and began the long drive to Wellsville. When they got out onto a lazy two-lane highway surrounded by thick forest beneath an overcast September sky, Rhodey Rhodes fiddled with the radio while Bucky Barnes stared out the passenger window.

Both were in sneakers, blue jeans, and button-up plaid. Rhodey swapped out his Rolex for a cheap utilitarian thing, and Bucky made time that morning to comb his hair and tie it in a neat bun. Sitwell even made them promise to swap out hygiene products, so Rhodey smelled like pine-needle body wash and Bucky smelled like berries.

They hardly recognized themselves.

“Country... Top 40... Country...” Rhodey muttered; he waited about five seconds to listen to each station before he pushed the 'seek' button again. Finally, when the opening chords of “House of the Rising Sun” crooned out of the speakers, Rhodey sat back with a satisfied smile. He glanced from the road to Bucky, then; he'd been staring silently out at the trees for the past hour or so, idly turning his wedding ring on his flesh-disguised hand. The arm's holographic system was a marvel of engineering.

Rhodey looked back at the road. “Whatcha thinking about?” he prompted quietly.

Bucky's right hand stilled on the ring. At length, he turned from the window to look at him. “Do we have a plan?”

Rhodey glanced at him again. “Mingle. Lots of mingling. Friendly neighbor dinners. Park barbeques. Just... seeing if anyone sets off any alarm bells, I guess.”

Bucky subtly bit his lip, then looked away from him. “And the... marriage, being in love thing? How long do you think we can keep that up?”

Rhodey's hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I thought we were pretty convincing in the wedding photos. And at the airport.”

“Yeah, but...” Bucky's eyes slid back over to his face. “Every day? For – who knows how long?”

It was silent in the truck except for the hum of the engine and the soft twanging of the radio for a long moment. Then, Rhodey said, “We're good, right?”

Bucky sat up and blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Is our relationship strong enough to withstand hand-holding and kissing and 'I love you's?” Rhodey spared him a glance of eye-contact. “You're not gonna wig out on me when this is all over, right? Because I won't.”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, before he quietly said, “We'll be fine.”

Rhodey nodded, once. “All right then.”

–

The sun was setting when they finally pulled into the drive-way of the one-story brick house; the grass was overgrown and the yard was littered with weeds and the sidewalk was split, but it was theirs, for as much as a temporary SHIELD procurement could make it so.

Bucky came around the front of the truck and hurried over to Rhodey's outstretched arms; Rhodey promptly reeled him in for a kiss – a firm one on the lips as opposed to the open-mouthed one in their wedding photos, which took four takes for Sitwell to be satisfied – then they both turned towards the house. Bucky touched his forehead to his, smiled serenely, and squeezed his waist.

“I know it's not perfect...” Rhodey hedged with a nervous chuckle, taking note of the drawn aside curtains of their neighbors' windows.

Bucky leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth before framing his face in his hands – one soft and warm, one hard and cold – and looking him in the eye. “It's everything I could ever ask for,” he said softly; he trickled his hands down his sides, then pulled away to walk towards the back of the truck.

Rhodey stood there, blinking, until Bucky called, “I'm not unloading this truck by myself, David!”

–

When they finally got all the boxes and suitcases inside and kicked the front door shut, Bucky immediately went off to do a sweep of the house and close all the curtains, leaving Rhodey to awkwardly wander around and wonder where to put everything.

The house was already furnished, with cream walls and a white ceiling and dark hardwood floors. The living room was immediately to the right from the front door – furnished with a bland navy blue couch, a grey armchair, and a not-too-old box TV on top of a stand – and kitchen immediately to the left – thankfully with the full stock of basic appliances. He looked over down the hallway that ran through the middle back of the house, where Bucky was stalking around, and saw three doors. He went to investigate, and the one on the right led to a spacious bedroom. The bed's headboard was pressed up against the far wall, and the bed itself looked to be about queen size with boring blue sheets; in the back left corner there was a closet, and along the right wall was a cupboard. A window sat above the headboard, curtains already drawn. Rhodey then went to poke around the doors on the left side of the hall; the one closest to the front of the house led to a decent full bathroom, and the one towards the back was a laundry-room.

When he turned around, Bucky was standing there, looking pleased. “No bugs to report. Location secure.” He hesitated, frowned, then said, “Not entirely secure. There's no security system and the window above the bed is a hazard.”

Rhodey shrugged and gave him a reassuring smile. “As long as our cover isn't compromised, we should be fine.” He turned away to yawn, then said, “Let's go put away everything and then get some sleep.”

Bucky followed him down the hall a few steps, then stopped. “You know, you could go to bed _now_ , and I can set up-”

“Um, _excuse_ me,” Rhodey interrupted, turning around and holding up a finger, “but decorating this house is going to be a _joint_ effort, _dear_.”

The side of Bucky's mouth quirked and his eyes narrowed. “Then try not to fall asleep on the clothes box, _husband_.”

When all the clothes and pictures were hung up and all the surveillance gear and weapons were tastefully stashed away, they each took a turn in the bathroom to get ready for bed. Rhodey had gone first, so he padded over to the bed in his pajama shorts, crawled under the covers to escape the nip in the air, and waited.

The bathroom door opened and the light in the hall flicked off, and Rhodey expected Bucky's head to appear in the doorway any second. When the seconds totaled up to a minute, and there was still no sign or sound of Bucky except for a faint rustling noise coming from the living-room, Rhodey huffily crawled out from under the covers back into the cool air and marched straight to the living-room, where he found Bucky in his long-sleeve nightshirt and cotton pajama pants sitting on the couch, fussing with a thick blanket.

“What do you think you're doing?” Rhodey prompted, hands on his hips.

Bucky stopped trying to unclump the blanket long enough to look at him and go, “Trying to get to sleep.”

“On the couch?”

“Well, where else would I sleep?”

“In the _bed?_ ”

“You don't have to sleep on the couch, I'm fine with it.”

“In the bed _with_ _me_ ,” Rhodey finished with a huff.

Bucky paused and didn't move except to breathe and clench his hands further into the blanket. Soon enough, he lifted his head to meet Rhodey's gaze and say, “The couch has wide sight-lines to the front, left, and right of the house, and I can see down the hall from here.”

Rhodey let his hands fall from his hips. “And the window is a hazard.”

The side of Bucky's mouth quirked. He looked apologetic.

Rhodey immediately waved him off and smiled. “I'll feel safer with you there anyway.” He turned to walk back down the hall as Bucky returned to fussing with the blanket; he took a moment to say, “Sweet dreams, Bucky.”

“You too, Rhodey.”

–

Rhodey awoke to the smell of eggs.

He stumbled into the kitchen to investigate, and found Bucky hovering over the frying pan on the stove where he was making a couple of omelets; he looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps from the hall and beamed at him. He was already dressed and cleaned up, looking chipper in flannel and a pony-tail, and Rhodey had the very intruding thought that Bucky was a picturesque house-husband.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” Bucky chirped, then flipped an omelet.

Rhodey blinked blearily at him, and then at the clock on the wall. “Why are you making breakfast at six o'clock in the morning?” he slurred – it sounded more like a whine. “You're not a morning person – I've _seen_ you.”

“Because we are going to start our day early,” Bucky explained, leaning back against the counter. “We need to meet people. We need to see things.”

Rhodey frowned, then leaned against the wall. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Bucky's cheer slid off his face, and then he just looked tired. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, actually, you were doing pretty good.”

“You just know me so well.”

“And don't you forget it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and returned to his omelets as Rhodey went to go make himself presentable. When he returned, buttoning the last button on his shirt, Bucky had two plates set out on the kitchen table filled with omelets and bacon bits and buttered toast. Rhodey sat down heavily in his chair, picked up a fork, and took a bite of omelet.

“Mmmpf.” He swallowed, then took another bite. When he was done chewing that one, he looked at Bucky and dreamily said, “What have I done to deserve a husband like you?” Bucky preened himself for the rest of breakfast.

Rhodey was doing the dishes when their doorbell rang at seven. Bucky opened the front door, and there was an older white couple standing there with million-watt smiles; the wife was holding a plastic dish. “Hi!” the husband chirruped.

Rhodey appeared at Bucky's side with a bright “Hi!”

“We're the Moores,” the wife introduced, tucking the dish into her elbow so she could hold out her hand. “We saw you move in yesterday and me and Ben thought we'd greet our new neighbors!”

“We're the Brennan-Braddocks,” Rhodey introduced, as he shook her hand. “I'm David, and this is Ivan.” Bucky smiled and nodded when it was his turn for hand-shaking.

“Dorothy and I always greet any new people with a smile and a batch of cookies!” Ben announced, extending his own hand. As they shook, he ventured, “Now, we couldn't help but notice you boys, uh, kissing yesterday, so, uh, you're... married?”

That was their prompt to wrap an arm around each other's waists. “Just got back from our honeymoon,” Bucky nodded. He looked at Rhodey, who was smiling adoringly at him, which caused his eyes to crinkle.

They smiled cheesily at each other for a beat before Dorothy went, “Aww, well we can tell you two love each other.” She then held out the tub of cookies, which Rhodey happily took. “Now, if you boys have any question about the town or people who live here, you come find us, okay? We live in the white house with the black shutters across the street.”

“You should come to dinner, sometime, too!” Ben urged.

Rhodey shared a look with Bucky before Bucky said, “That would be – okay, yeah.”

“How about Saturday?” Dorothy prompted, beaming. “I can make meat-loaf!” Rhodey and Bucky both looked at each other again before nodding. “ _Ooh_ , great! Can't wait to see ya there! We'll be going now! C'mon, Ben!”

The Moores made their way back down the sidewalk; Ben turned around and said, “You'll love Wellsville, I just know it!”

Rhodey and Bucky smiled and waved until they were on the street, then closed the door. When it was firmly shut, they stared at each other for a minute before breaking down into peals of laughter.

–

Over the course of the next few weeks, several things happened.

As they both got more settled into the house, Bucky managed to fall asleep on the couch; he also managed to start jogging in the mornings. This enabled him to meet Kathleen Jensen, a sporty young woman with olive skin and long black hair who recently graduated from college and was hired at Wellsville High as a coach. Eventually, after passing each other enough in their early-morning jogs, they ended up talking to each other over water-breaks at the town park. This led to Kathleen networking Bucky with more of the school faculty and the athletic-legacy parents in exchange for him teaching her advanced self-defense techniques.

Rhodey, meanwhile, managed to get hired at the local hardware store, which enabled him to get to know most of the older men and working citizens in the town. He easily bonded with a co-worker – a graying Nez Perce man named Taryn who grew up in the state's reservation. They talked a lot about the disappearances in the area, and what people could possibly be behind it. Taryn mentioned human trafficking rings and serial killers, but he couldn't see the logic in any of it – the only thing that connected all of the missing people were that they all lived alone. That thread of thought quickly led to the fact that Wellsville was the only town that hadn't been hit yet; Taryn didn't know which idea he was more afraid of – that someone like him or any of the other single citizens were next, or that the culprit was someone he knew. Rhodey asked him if he knew any people who seemed suspicious or just gave off bad vibes, and Taryn gave him a guarded look before he quietly confessed his thoughts and suspicions.

As for the both of them, they went to the Moores for that Saturday dinner, where they learned that the Moores claimed to know _every_ thing about _every_ body. When asked about the disappearances, however, Dorothy quickly threw up her hands and went, “Oh, no, honey, we don't talk about those kind of things in this house, it's too depressing.” Rhodey pressed them for more information with his Earnest Voice, and Bucky gave them his best wide-eyed and innocent look. That broke Ben down to say, “Well, there _is_ that one Harrison boy. There's something off about him. Gives me the willies.”

Life when they were alone changed, too. For one, after Bucky introduced Rhodey to Kathleen as his husband, she gave them both a _look_ before saying, “You two don't act like it, sometimes. Is everything okay at home?” Bucky and Rhodey shared a single, panicked glance. “Ah – I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry-” Kathleen began.

“No, you're right,” Bucky said shortly. “We've been. It's been. It's different, here. We're having – trouble.”

Kathleen slowly raised an eyebrow. “Maybe... you should find out what's different? And... work it out?” She shook her head and bit her lip. “I'm not a marriage counselor, I just don't wanna see you two grow apart so soon after you got married.”

Rhodey meekly grabbed Bucky's hand. “Okay.”

From that point on, they did their best to put on more public displays of married affection. They focused more on the little things – little looks, little touches – and started taking walks together in the evenings. When they ran in to each other during the day, they met each other with a kiss, and when they were together, they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. As September slid into October and the air grew colder and the leaves began to change color and fall, they attended a harvest festival that the town threw at the park that ended up with them wrestling in a pile of leaves.

Bucky was doing a very good job at hiding the fact that he was a super-soldier, so with a final tussle and a flip Rhodey had him pinned to the ground. Breathing heavily and smiling inches above his face, Rhodey panted, “Do you surrender?”

Bucky smirked instead, then tenderly grabbed him by his jacket's collar and pulled him down into a slow, languid kiss. Rhodey's world narrowed down to the cold air against his cheeks and the warmth of Bucky's mouth and the smell of apple cider on his clothes and the soft puffs of their breath. The next thing he knew, he was flipped hard into the ground and his face was full of leaves and Bucky was darting off, laughing. Rhodey gave a squawk and scrambled upright just in time to see him high-fiving Taryn.

Things weren't that much different when they were alone in the house, either. They told themselves that they were just too tired to turn it off and back on every day, so they just left it on. Rhodey ended up slowly coming up behind Bucky as he cooked – taking great care to make his footsteps audible – before resting his head on his shoulder to watch him. Bucky ended up kissing Rhodey goodbye when he left for work. During the days when everything was too much and Bucky shut himself up inside the house, he'd knit for hours upon hours; on the day when he was finished and Rhodey came home from work, he gifted him with a stormy-gray and scarlet-striped scarf. Rhodey gaped at it, then hastily put it on and giddily handed Bucky a plastic bag. Inside the bag was a full set of pumpkin spice candles. They grinned incredulously at each other for a bit, then, instead of hugging, surged into a kiss. The next night, Rhodey woke up to the sounds of someone in the bedroom, and his hand was on his gun by the time he realized it was Bucky weaseling into the bed beside him. He sat up slightly, just enough to catch one tired and muted look from Bucky before he settled down on his side with his back towards him. Rhodey eased himself back down and waited until the harsh, tense line of Bucky's back eased into sleep before he let his eyes stay closed.

–

When Rhodey came home from work, the first thing he did was pull out a folded poster from his back-pocket and hunt Bucky down. It didn't take long, considering that when Bucky heard the front door shut, he did exactly the same thing. They met face-to-face in the hallway, both holding folded pieces of tan paper.

Rhodey rose an eyebrow. “The dance?”

Bucky unfolded the poster and nodded. “The dance.”

They both looked at the poster that declared:

_Annual Wellsville Fall Dance_

_October 25 th, 6:00PM_

_Theme: Spooky Swing_

“What the hell is 'spooky swing?'” Bucky demanded, then quickly skimmed through the track list. “The only thing I recognize on here is 'Sing Sing Sing,' but what's – remix?” He looked up sharply when Rhodey started melting down into giggles. “What?”

Rhodey forced himself to stop, cleared his throat, then said, “Spooky Swing probably means a bunch of electroswing tracks remixed with creepy songs or sound effects.”

Bucky stared at him. “ _Electro_ swing?”

Rhodey could barely contain his grin. When he finally reeled himself in again, he said, “Is this not how you did things back in the good old days?”

“ _No_ , Rhodes, we didn't have electronic synthesizers back in my day,” Bucky said in his Spiteful Old Man voice (the only one who could outdo him was Steve's Sarcastic Old Man voice, surprisingly enough), then smacked him with the poster. “And every time someone calls them 'the good old days' my eye twitches.”

Rhodey chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry. I can pull up an example of electroswing on the laptop if you want to hear it. Would that be an acceptable peace treaty?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Yes.”

They both sat on the couch and Rhodey pulled up a remix of Puttin' On the Ritz. When the song was over, Rhodey looked over to Bucky's pensive face and prompted, “So. Verdict?”

Bucky slowly leaned back, then smiled. “I like it. I can work with that.” He looked back down at the poster.

Rhodey side-eyed him. “What do you mean 'you can work with that'?”

Bucky looked over at him. “We can swing to that.”

Rhodey curtly shut the lap-top and went, “ _No_ we can't.”

“Why not?”

“I can't dance.” Bucky frowned at him with heavy-lidded eyes, then Rhodey sat up and promptly corrected himself. “I can't _swing_ -dance.”

Bucky perked up. “Then I'll teach you.” Rhodey quirked a brow, and Bucky continued, “Come on, we'll do it right now. We'll push the couch and the chair against the wall and I'll show you some beginner moves.”

Rhodey hesitated and licked his lips before nodding. They quickly got the furniture out of the way, then stood facing each other in the middle of the floor. Bucky rolled his shoulders, then said, “Okay, most of the movement is going to be in the stepping-”

–

They had a week to prepare for the dance, and they were so absorbed in practicing that they almost forgot to buy costumes. So, the night before, they drove out of town to scrape together a pair. On the night of the dance, David and Ivan came arm-in-arm as a vampire and a pirate (the only differences in their costume being Rhodey's vest and cape and Bucky's rugged trench-coat and scarlet sash; otherwise it was just a white blouse with black jeans and boots).

It wasn't until they were out in the middle of the high school gym dance-floor lindy-hopping that they realized that no one else bothered to learn how to swing.

“ _Ooh_ , look at them boys go!”

Rhodey smirked at Bucky when he reeled him back in from a spin-out. “Looks like the Moores are here.” Bucky chuckled, and sure enough, they spun past the Moores dressed up as the American Gothic couple, who were less swing-dancing as they were awkwardly shuffling.

Both of them kept their eyes peeled for the people on their list of suspects (men named Marlow, Boris, and Harrison), but a Halloween dance wasn't the best way to take stock of the town – about a quarter of the people were wearing full-face masks, and the more conservative citizens just wouldn't show up.

They paused to do a kick-ball-change and some shorty-georges when the music got particularly enthusiastic. Bucky spotted Kathleen doing some variant of the jitterbug with her girlfriend as a couple of hipster zombies, then Boris lurking by the wall as a scarecrow. Rhodey spotted the Joneses, the Norringtons, the Smiths, Mr. Cooper, Ms. Wells, then finally Marlow dressed as a bloody clown looming over the punch-bowl.

The final song was winding its way up to the end, so Rhodey murmured, “You see Harrison? I got Marlow.”

“No Harrsison, got Boris,” Bucky muttered back, then it was time for their finale move. As the music swelled, Bucky braced himself, then Rhodey spun himself up and over Bucky's shoulder, who then looped him between his legs, and hauled him back up to a fanfare of hoots and whistles. The music ended with one last trumpet blast, before fading into the non-synthesized slow dancing portion. Bucky and Rhodey made their way over to the table with the water-cooler to wind down.

Rhodey gulped down his cup of water then panted, “I'm real glad I didn't throw out my back doing that.”

Bucky hip-bumped him. “You're talking like you're old.”

“I'm closer to fifty than I am to thirty.” Bucky shifted his weight to the other foot and frowned. Point taken. Rhodey then leaned over and whispered into his ear, “So what do you think about Marlow and Boris? Our bugs haven't picked up anything from them except the fact that they're assholes, and I don't think they're organized enough to abduct people.”

Bucky leaned against him and smirked as if what he whispered wasn't speculatory gossip. “Boris doesn't have the integrity and Marlow doesn't have the will. I think it's Harrison.” Harrison's bugs have only ever picked up the man's footsteps and doors opening and closing with the occasional burst of static. Rhodey opened his mouth to reply when the Moores hobbled over with the intent of small-talk.

“Hey, David! Ivan!” Ben called, then promptly began filling up two cups for him and his wife.

“You two looked like you were having fun out there!” Dorothy giggled; she took a sip then said, “Where'd you learn to dance like that?” Rhodey tilted his head towards Bucky, and Dorothy immediately went, “Oh? Well, mister, who taught _you_?”

Bucky shrugged. “Some friends.” He promptly threw his and Rhodey's cups away, then took his hands and tugged him towards the dance-floor. “It was nice talking to you Dorothy, Ben, but I really want to dance with my husband,” he said apologetically.

Ben pulled Dorothy close and waved them off. “Oh, you two go on ahead. We'll chat off somebody else's ear.” Dorothy looked at him and scoffed, but turned and waved them off anyway.

Rhodey quirked an eyebrow at Bucky the whole time he was dragged out into the slow-dancing throng, and when Bucky finally put a hand on his shoulder and waist and started dancing, he gave him a look that said _Can you blame me?_ Rhodey smiled and shook his head as he placed his own hands to mirror Bucky's. No, he could not.

Louis Armstrong was gently singing out of the speakers as the dancers swayed and turned. Rhodey leaned his forehead forward to rest against Bucky's, who let out a soft sigh and smiled. They continued swaying for a while before Bucky whispered, “I'm going to have to break into Harrison's place.”

“We can worry about that later,” Rhodey murmured. “Right now, I just wanna enjoy this. Do you?”

Bucky looked up at him through his eyelashes. “You that desperate for a slow-dance?”

“Says the man who was desperate for a slow-dance not five minutes ago,” Rhodey retorted, then casually kissed the side of his mouth. Bucky huffed, but kissed him back, and they kissed once more before they began dancing cheek-to-cheek.

They were on the second-to-last song of the night, Ella Fitzgerald crooning _Someone to Watch Over Me_ , when Bucky breathed, “This is nice.”

Rhodey's eyes slid down and to the left to look at the glinting wedding ring on his left ring finger on Bucky's shoulder. He took a breath before he said, “Yes. It is.” His hands gave Bucky a short squeeze, and he smiled when Bucky squeezed back.

–

That night, when they got home and changed out and cleaned up, they crawled into bed together and ended up staring at the ceiling instead of falling asleep.

Rhodey idly ran his thumb over the sheet for a while before he said, “If Harrison's really our guy, this is all going to stop.”

Bucky slowly looked away from the ceiling over to him. “I know,” he said softly.

Rhodey remained silent for a little while before he admitted, “You know, I never thought that I... that I'd get to have this. Still don't, really.”

Bucky propped himself up on his metal elbow. “Have what?”

“This.” Rhodey gestured vaguely to the air between them. “Love. Marriage. I haven't been in a serious relationship since my college days; there's always been the military and Tony and then the Avengers and I told myself I just couldn't find the energy to try for anything, and now I feel too old and too late.”

Bucky stared at him for a bit before he settled back down into the bed. “I... can relate.”

Things were quiet for a time; then Rhodey said, “It's almost cruel.” Bucky peered at him, but said nothing. Rhodey continued, “The time that we've spent together, in this house, in this town... none of it was real. It was as real as a fun-house mirror.”

Bucky sat up again. “Who says this wasn't real?”

Rhodey looked at him sharply, then sat up to match his gaze. “This was all part of a cover. We were pretending. It's fake.”

Bucky looked at him steadily. His expression was unwavering. “ _Was_ it fake?”

Rhodey licked his lips and swallowed. “I... don't – know. Was it?”

Bucky didn't so much as blink. “It doesn't have to be.”

Rhodey frowned at him. “What are you saying?”

Bucky sat up fully and turned his head away to look at his folded hands – one warm, one cold – resting in his lap. Rhodey sat up beside him and waited patiently for an answer.

“We could love each other,” Bucky said eventually. He looked back up to Rhodey's wide eyes. “Outside of this. Not a cover. You. Me. Still... doing things. Kissing. Dancing. Sharing a bed. All the little things. All the big things. It doesn't have to stop.”

Rhodey took a deep breath and looked away. “Bucky... The things I did as David-”

“I don't want David Braddock. I want Rhodey Rhodes.” Rhodey looked up, then, and his lips parted. Bucky looked extremely sharp, and extremely brittle.

Very quietly, Rhodey said, “And I want Bucky Barnes.” They both sat up onto their knees and looked at each other like they were seeing one another for the first time. Slowly, carefully, Rhodey reached forward and pulled off Bucky's night-shirt. Bucky lifted his arms to let him, then lowered them back down. The hologram only extended up to the bicep, then stopped at the point where the metal overflowed onto his torso; there was no covering the scars. Still slow and careful, Rhodey reached forward to flip up the panel hidden underneath the hologram and flip the switch. The hologram flickered out of existence; the plate flipped down, then joined the others as they rippled and hissed as the arm came out of stealth mode. It glinted silver in the moonlight streaming in through the curtains; silver like the wedding ring still on its ring finger.

Bucky was staring at him, wide-eyed, with his jaw hanging ever-so-slightly. Rhodey looked him in the eye. The silence was almost deafening, and the tension in the air was almost smothering.

With great care, Bucky's hands slid up from Rhodey's hands, to his elbows, to his shoulders – he felt the ring travel up his right side the whole way, and the sensation made him shiver – before they stopped. Bucky leaned in, then, and so did Rhodey; when they were only a breath apart, Bucky whispered, “I love you.”

Rhodey's hands found their way to Bucky's hips. “I love you, too.”

They closed their eyes and kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

–

Harrison's house was spotless, muted, and seemed to crackle with electricity.

Bucky prowled from room to room on silent feet; the kitchen was shining and seemed to have hardly been used, along with the living-room, and the bathroom, and the bedroom. All the drawers and cabinets were barren.

At the very back of the house was a small room with a thick wooden door surrounded by sound-proof walls. Bucky warily looked over the door and the walls, then determined that there were three different kinds of security systems keeping the doors locked and impenetrable. He gently trailed his metal hand along the wall until he registered the hidden panel; he eased it off to expose the labyrinth of wires, all colored red. He stared at them for a solid minute, before taking out a pair of clippers from his belt, easing three wires between the blades, and snapping them in one quick motion.

A soft sound came from the door. Bucky replaced the panel and the clippers, stepped softly over to the doorknob, then opened it.

The first thing he took in was the walls – covered in hundreds and hundreds of photographs of different people, far more than the number that the SHIELD file listed. Then there were the maps – a map of Oregon, a map of Oklahoma, a map of Maine, covered in needles. Pressed up against the far wall was a mahogany desk covered in papers and files. Bucky carefully stepped up to it, then rapidly skimmed through the papers. They were articles about the fabric of space and time; theological essays about the existence of dimensions and alternate dimensions; and in one, a picture of a bronze medallion that had a single spherical disc in the center.

Suddenly, Bucky felt a shift in the air; someone had snuck up behind him. He whirled around and pulled his pistol in half a heartbeat. The muzzle was aimed right between Harrison's eyes.

“Hello, Ivan Brennan,” he said calmly, with a malevolent smile. He was a tall, white, blonde-haired and hazel-eyed man in a gray suit – all sharp edges and clean lines. “I'm afraid we haven't had the pleasure of meeting before. My name is Michael Harrison.”

“Step back, turn around, kneel, and put your hands on your head,” Bucky said coolly.

“Do you want to hear a story, Ivan?” Harrison prompted. His eyes were narrowed.

“I won't repeat myself,” Bucky hissed.

<I said, do you want to hear a story, Winter Soldier?> Harrison repeated, in Russian.

Bucky grew very, very still.

Harrison's smile morphed into a sneer. <Yes. I know who you are. I'd tell you how, but there's a story to hear first.

Once there was a little girl. This little girl was a superstitious little thing, and she believed with all her heart that if she turned around fast enough, she wouldn't be in the same world she was before. It would look like it, and act like it, but it wouldn't be quite the same. But. If she turned back around, also quickly, she believed she would be sent back home. So, because she was a brazen little girl, she spun around, and wandered around the new world. When she missed home, or she got bored, she just spun around, and she was back. But you see, she was a stupid little girl, and was too entertained by her power. So she spun, and spun again, and spun and spun and spun, hopping between worlds, but when she stopped-> Harrison pouted <-she found that she lost track of how many times she turned. She was lost. So she cried, and cried, and cried.>

Bucky's eyes narrowed. His trigger finger itched.

<But this?> Harrison pulled the medallion from the picture up from where it hung beneath his shirt. <This gives me the power to skip between more than just two worlds. I can skip between them _all_. I've seen you, in some of them. Did you know that this dimension is one of your kinder ones? >

<What does this have to do with the people?> Bucky snarled, jerking his head towards the photos.

Harrison sighed, and immediately looked bored. <Did you know that people go for a lot of money? Oh, what am I saying, of course you do, you're _you_. >

Bucky's face shuttered into something very cold. <You enslave them.>

Harrison held up a finger. < _I_ don't. Nobody dictates what my clients do. Besides, some get eaten, some get pressurized, people find all sorts of uses. The point is, nobody misses them. I have a policy. >

<You think that what you do is excusable because you believe they will not be missed?> Bucky's mouth curled into a grin, and he lowered his gun. “You are a fool.”

Harrison had exactly one second to look outraged before he violently spasmed in a shock of electricity; his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the ground, twitching, with an electrodisk stuck on the nape of his neck. Rhodey stood behind him, looking down at him as if he was a dead skunk.

Rhodey reached down with his gloved hand and yanked the medallion from his neck; the electrodisk stopped discharging after a few more seconds, and Bucky took the opportunity to put his knee on Harrison's spine and cuff his hands. Rhodey lifted the comm on his wrist to his mouth and announced, “SHIELD, this is Rhodes. We got the bastard.”

–

The two steel wedding bands fell onto Sitwell's desk with a _pling, pling_.

“So, it's all over, huh?” Sitwell mused, leaning back in his chair to smile up at them both.

Rhodey looked over to Bucky and shared a smile. “Yeah. All over.” The two then leaned over and kissed, then walked out of Sitwell's office holding hands.

Sitwell gaped.


	13. Day 13 - Handcuffed Together

Rhodey allowed himself precisely one night a year to get drunk off his rocker. When Thor invited all of the Avengers to Asgard to join in his birthday celebrations, he figured it was as good an excuse as any.

What he _didn't_ prepare for was considering the exact biological differences between Asgardian alcohol and Earth's. All he knows now is that 1) the light makes his eyeballs feel like they're going to explode 2) he has a pounding headache and 3) the last thing he remembers is knocking back a shot around the rest of the team at what he knows to be fact the equivalent of evening.

He groaned softly and then moved his left arm to cover his eyes, but there was resistance; not having the willpower to think about that, he moved his right arm instead.

“Oh, good, you're up.”

Rhodey did a full-body wince. Bucky's voice was like a thunder-clap, or a billion knives straight to his brain. “Shhh... shh,” he uttered. Feebly. Apparently, Bucky obliged, because he didn't make another peep.

When he finally managed to rally himself, he removed his hand and opened his eyes. He winced again, blinked a few times, squinted; he was looking down his chest towards the foot of a bed in a golden, lavish room. A distinctly Asgardian room with silk sheets in which he was tucked into. He looked over at Bucky to his left, who was sitting on top of the covers in the same clothes he wore yesterday, some casual metropolitan getup – which didn't make any sense because he refused any and all offers of inebriation and was affectionately declared their “designated driver” – and smirking and whoa whoa wait.

“Why are we handcuffed together?” Rhodey demanded with as much force as he could muster after waking up with a hangover, shaking his left arm where it was cuffed to Bucky's right with bulky silver cuffs.

Bucky's smirk didn't falter for a millisecond. “Do you have any idea what you put me through last night?” he asked with faux lightness and oh no.

Rhodey closed his eyes, leaned his head back into the very soft pillow, and groaned. When Bucky didn't continue, he said, “No, I don't.”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

Rhodey considered. “Short.”

“You almost caused an intergalactic incident and I had to rescue you from jail.”

Rhodey's eyes shot open and he sat up – too quickly, much too quick, big mistake. His stomach churned and flexed and if he threw up all over these silk sheets he just might cry.

After swallowing thickly, Rhodey looked at Bucky again and went, “Long, _long_.”

Bucky had the decency to drop the smirk. “The evening started out nice, y'know, everyone was eating and drinking and being merry. But then all of you got drunk _real_ quick – well, everyone except Thor, Steve, and Nat – they got drunk later – which was a real sight to see, let me tell you – and then everyone was all over the place. You got the bright idea that you could advance Earth's weapons by a couple hundred years if you could get enough time to study Asgard's-” Rhodey grimaced “-so first you tried to break into the security headquarters of the palace, and then you _actually_ broke into the battlements – security was tight and you were smashed, I'm impressed – and after the guards kicked you out you broke into the royal library. That was when I caught up with you being dragged away by guards and asked what they were going to do with you, and they said 'We are taking him to a holding cell in the dungeons.'”

“The dungeons filled with war criminals and marauders?” Rhodey huffed, offended. “For drunken misdemeanors?”

“ _Well,_ ” Bucky drawled, mouth curling into a grin. “Because you were technically trying to steal government secrets and they already locked you in a room in the palace – which you broke out of five minutes later; I repeat, I'm impressed – they said they had no alternative. So, being the _saint_ that I am-” the sarcasm was so thick Rhodey could pick up on it through his headache-induced nausea “-I brokered a deal. The deal being that instead of locking you up someplace, you get handcuffed to me. So, here we are, in some room in an inn that we got for free because we're 'Thor's honored shield-brothers,' because I had no idea where we were and you puked in a vase and carrying you through the streets was making people stare.”

“Oh God,” Rhodey moaned, letting his face fall into his hands – Bucky obligingly let his right arm hang awkwardly in the air.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Bucky volunteered, “I heard that Clint challenged Hogun to a duel, Tony broke something, and Steve streaked through the throne room.”

Rhodey hesitated. “How important was the something?”

“Pretty important.”

“Lord,” he muttered, then let his hands fall to the mattress. “Well, you can take this off now,” he said, jiggling his left wrist.

“About that.” Rhodey side-eyed him, and Bucky looked genuinely apologetic. “The guard insisted on keeping the key to the cuffs. Only, the guards change shifts in the mornings, and I have absolutely _no idea_ where she is.”

Rhodey used his right hand to slowly rub his eyes. “I need coffee before I can think.”

“Jane definitely has some.”

“Do you know how to get to her?”

“I said I had no idea where we are.”

Rhodey sighed and nudged the covers off his legs – dully noticing that Bucky had taken his shoes off before tucking him in – before scooting over to Bucky's edge of the bed. “Here's what we're going to do,” he announced groggily. Bucky turned to listen with rapt attention. “We're going to find a bathroom so I can get rid of the horrible taste in my mouth. Then we're going to ask a guard for directions to Jane. Then we're going to drink a ton of coffee. _Then_ we're going to get Thor to hunt down that key for us, and after that, we pretend this never happened.”

Rhodey was so focused on looking around the room for a bathroom that he missed Bucky looking at him with soft eyes and a reluctant bittersweet twist to his mouth. When Rhodey finally did look back, Bucky had an easy-going grin that reached his eyes. “Whatever you think's best.”

–

After they had taken care of all the hygiene they could without taking their clothes off and Rhodey got his shoes back on, they left the inn and walked out onto the street. Rhodey, blessing whatever he could bless for having both him and Bucky wearing long sleeves, tucked the cuffs up each underneath a sleeve and then reached to hold Bucky's hand. Bucky gave him a perplexed, bewildered look for about two seconds before taking his hand.

Rhodey eyed him searchingly as he lifted their joined hands and squeezed. “This okay?”

Bucky shrugged. “It's an effective way to hide the chain.” He looked around at the Asgardian citizens on the street going about their morning business. “No one's staring.”

“I was hoping they wouldn't,” Rhodey agreed, shifting his weight. He lowered their hands back down to their sides and said, “Now, let's go track down a guard.”

–

They found a guard on a street-corner that gave them crisp, clear directions to 'Lady Jane's' quarters. They thanked her, then started the mile-long trip through the winding path of shining streets, dazzling gardens, and glistening halls of the royal district – holding hands all the while.

Finally, they reached the large, ornate door of Jane's chambers. After taking a quick case of Rhodey – he had been wincing at bright lights and flinching at loud noises the entire trip – Bucky reached up and rapped on the door with his metal hand. Rhodey shut his eyes and swayed on his feet.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered. Rhodey waved him off.

After a span of about thirty seconds, Jane slowly eased open the door and squinted up at them with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“You're here for the coffee,” she stated. Stated, not asked, with a knowing smile.

“Yes, ma'am,” replied Rhodey, and it sounded like the plea it was.

“Then come on in, we've been expecting you two,” Jane chuckled, then opened the door to reveal the rest of the Avengers and company gathered around her chamber's dining table – Thor, Steve, Sam, Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Darcy – in various states of hungover lucidity.

They all perked up when Bucky and Rhodey walked in – except for Darcy, who was completely out and drooling on the table – and almost immediately their eyes slid down to their joined hands.

“Calm down everyone,” Bucky admonished, letting go of Rhodey's hand to display the chain binding their wrists together, and Tony tried and failed to let out a low whistle.

“Do I wanna know?” Steve croaked, squinting at them as he cradled his mug. Natasha was smirking something fierce behind the brim of her cup.

“I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” Rhodey countered, slowly sitting down in one of the free chairs – Bucky sat in the chair to his left as Jane set two hot mugs of coffee down in front of them. Rhodey smiled up at her in thanks and patted her companionably on the shoulder. Jane grinned and clapped him on the bicep before returning to her chair.

Steve stared at them for a long moment before going, “Okay,” and returned to stare into the steam of his coffee.

That was when Clint and Tony both roused themselves and started with “Oh, I'd be happy to tell-” “Everyone needs to know the glory of Cap-”

Steve turned to them and raised one careful finger. “No.” Clint settled down but Tony opened his mouth again and Steve went, “Stark, if you tell them _one word_ of what I did last night, then so help me-”

“I already heard it through the grapevine, Stevie,” Bucky confessed with a wolfish grin.

Steve stared at him in despair for a long moment before looking down in defeat at the table and whispering “Goddamn it.” Sam snorted.

Tony was laughing and enjoying things a bit too much, so Rhodey turned and said, “So what's this I hear about you breaking something?”

Tony cut off his laughter immediately and whirled on him. “Okay, so first off, that Fandral bastard made me do it-” Pepper managed to shake her head while simultaneously drinking coffee “-because he was like 'You know, dear chap, I must say that your arc-reactors are rather admirable' and I was like 'Thanks' and then he said 'In an ancient, dilapidated sort of way' and I couldn't let that _stand_ , Rhodey, I had to defend my _honor_ -”

“Those two got into a pissing match about innovation that ended with Tony causing a blackout on six floors,” Pepper finished; Bruce seconded by holding his hand up and nodding.

Thor spoke, then, after staring at their handcuffs in increasing confusion since they walked in. “Those are binding cuffs used by the guards of Asgard for criminals.” He looked up to their faces, then. “They would not idly do this. What happened, my friends?”

Bucky looked over at Rhodey and Rhodey cleared his throat. “They kinda caught me breaking into the palace library,” he admitted, and Tony coughed 'nerd' from across the table – Rhodey kicked him in the ankle.

Thor still looked confused. “If you wanted access to the royal library, all you need is ask.”

Rhodey rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Okay, I was drunk and I wanted to find out how your people's technology worked, so I kinda broke into two other places that I never would have had I been sober and the guards shackled me to this guy here instead of dumping me in the dungeons – which I'm rather grateful for – and the guard who did so kind of kept the key and now we don't know where she is and we're stuck like this.”

Thor and Jane shared a look and promptly started giggling. Rhodey and Bucky looked at them curiously.

“Nay, not stuck for long; I'll find this guard and get you freed within the day,” Thor promised, still laughing.

Bucky blinked. “Within the _day_?”

Thor stopped laughing, smiled, and said, “It will take time, of course, to relay the message and rouse the guard to report back with the key.” He stood. “I can leave now to do so; indeed I should, if you all are to return to Earth by nightfall.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Rhodey nodded; Bucky gave a tight smile and seconded him a moment later.

“It is of no trouble,” Thor replied, beaming at them, and then he was out the door.

When Rhodey and Bucky looked back at the others, they were all staring at the two of them.

Rhodey and Bucky blinked.

“You're both so fucked,” the finally awakened Darcy snorted.

–

Darcy, it turned out, was right.

Going to the bathroom was an awkward experience that was only somewhat eased by the other politely looking away and wearing borrowed headphones to listen to loud borrowed pop music. They both had to wash their hands in the same sink – and, after Bucky kept complaining about how Rhodey smelled like death and Rhodey kept sniping back at him that he didn't smell like a meadow either, both ended up taking the universe's most awkward bath with their cuffed arms extended as far out to the side as they could to protect their shirts. Afterwards, with the alternative of having two smelly shirts hanging between their hands at all times, they simply put fresh ones on over them and hoped for the best.

There were still activities planned to celebrate Thor's birthday – one of which was a performance of Asgard's best entertainers. Bucky, never wanting to get his metal hand greasy or buttery, used his right to eat the food provided for the show – which meant he dragged Rhodey's hand to his mouth every time he took a bite. Another activity happened to be a tournament, which included a vigorous game of Tug o' War. The game was Thor on one side of the mud pit, and Steve, Sam, Tony, Pepper, Jane, Darcy, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Bucky, and Rhodey on the other. This, of course, meant that either Bucky or Rhodey had to tug backwards. Bucky volunteered, as long as he was at the very back, so there was no chance of face-smashing. This, of course, still made things awkward, since Bucky's leg between Rhodey's knees was rather distracting from the fact that they were all trying to win a contest of strength against a demigod. In the end, Thor took pity on them when even Steve broke a sweat, and gave a mighty tug – they all went flying into the mud. Darcy, to stop Thor's bellowing laugh, took a handful of mud and pelted him with it. Things got very quiet, before they all erupted into a giant mud fight.

The _second_ time Bucky and Rhodey had to take a bath together in _one day_ , they both went “I don't care. I legitimately don't care anymore.” This resulted in a truly relaxing session of washing each other without having to worry about modesty or protecting shirts, since Bucky ripped all four ruined shirts in half with his metal arm and they both affirmed mutual trust.

After that, they both emerged from their wash-room shirtless and barefoot. Soon after, there was a knock, and they opened their chamber door to Clint asking them if they wanted to come along to even more escapades before he trailed and off and stared at them with an expression that broadcasted that he was working something out. They both politely declined and firmly shut the door.

After everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours, the two of them felt like some quiet time just reading while sprawled out on the giant bed would be just fine.

The problem was, of course, that neither of them could quite focus on reading.

Bucky, after staring at the same page for fifteen minutes – Rhodey had been doing the same – quietly said, “I didn't tell you everything you did last night.”

Rhodey shut his book, then turned onto his side to fully look at him. “I'm listening.”

Bucky mirrored his actions before looking into his eyes, reluctantly, his expression drawn. “You asked me to marry you.”

Rhodey glanced down and away, working his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked back with an uneasy grin and said, “Yeah, I, uh, kinda get like that when I'm drunk. I either give people pep talks or ask them to marry me, it's what I do.”

Bucky gave him an assessing look. “You kind of did both.”

Rhodey clamped down on any bits of body language that could possibly relay how uncomfortable he was, but judging by the way Bucky was staring intently at him, he had no idea if he managed it. “Then... So what did I say?”

Bucky shifted. “You told me all the things you love about me – your words, not mine – then you... you told me you loved me and asked me to marry you.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Do you do that with everyone else?”

Rhodey wanted to say he did – _oh_ , how he wanted to. But this was Bucky. And he couldn't. “...No. I don't.” Bucky's eyes slowly widened and Rhodey quickly said, “Look. I wouldn't have said anything otherwise, and if it's unrequited, it's unrequited, all you have to do is say the word and it's gone, we don't have to worry about this-”

“Who said anything about it being unrequited?” Bucky interrupted. Rhodey did a double-take, and a surprised laugh bubbled from Bucky's throat. “I could go off on a tangent about all the things I love about you, too, you know.”

Rhodey's mouth was slightly open and his eyes had been roaming his face up until that point. Then, he met his gaze, quirked a brow, and donned a challenging smirk. “Care to enlighten me, then?”

Bucky's eyebrows rose and his mouth curled into a smile. “All right, then,” he replied, a cocky note coloring his voice, then shifted into a more comfortable position before continuing, “When I first met you, you had no expectations. I wasn't 'James Buchanan Barnes, War Hero' or 'The Winter Soldier, -'” he cut himself off and looked away, sobering, before hurtling on, “you just – treated me like... like anyone else. You talked to me over coffee, you didn't push me for anything. It was like you were more interested in who I could become than in anyone I was.” He met Rhodey's eyes, then, and couldn't quite take his soft expression, so he looked away again. “You were the first person who trusted me outside of Steve, Nat, and Sam. You still did, even when I made it clear I didn't trust you back. You didn't expect anything from me, but you never wrote me off.” He dragged his eyes back to Rhodey's face, then, and took a moment to recall every explosion, every gunshot, every battle he was in since joining the Avengers. “We've been through a lot together,” he said softly.

Rhodey took a moment to do the same, looking away to the light streaming in through the window before looking back. “That we have.”

“And that's how I learned that you're dependable. You're solid, and I've always admired you for that.” He sat up, and Rhodey did the same, before he looked Rhodey in the eye and said, “I trust you with my life. With more, even.”

Those two sentences were sweeter to Rhodey's ears than any 'I love you' could have ever been.

But Bucky wasn't done. “And.” He took a second to look horribly sheepish before the glint returned to his eyes and he learned forward to purr, “I love you, James Rupert Rhodes.”

“I _really_ wanna kiss you right now,” Rhodey murmured around a blinding grin.

Bucky slowly licked his lips and leaned in until their noses were touching. “Then by all means.” The next second Rhodey tilted his head and their mouths slotted together; they both closed their eyes when Rhodey parted his lips and Bucky deepened it; then Rhodey reached his hands up to card through Bucky's hair, dragging his right arm along for the ride, and their huffs of laughter were just enough to break the kiss.

“ _You_ ,” Rhodey declared, because he wanted to do this sober and because he wanted to remember it, “do so much and ask for so little,” kiss, “even when you deserve it,” kiss, “and I admire you for that. And you are incredibly kind.” Kiss. “And, whenever I feel like I'm suffocating under... worry, or stress, or anything, you help me breath a little easier.” Kiss.

Bucky bumped their noses together. “I like to think that goes both ways.”

“You're a brave and good man,” a kiss, even though Bucky was staring at him now, incredulous, “and you still try to help people, despite everything.” Bucky blinked. “And, for some reason, we both chose a little shit as our best friend.” That got him a surprised bark of laughter, and Rhodey kissed him on the cheek before saying, “Therefore, I love _you_ , James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Bucky ordered, and Rhodey was happy to oblige.

–

In the end, it took nine hours for the guard to report to the palace with the key.

There was a loud, booming knock on their chamber door, which rudely interrupted their lazy make-out session. They sprang apart, glanced awkwardly at the other's crotch, which revealed some things about what they were doing, before slinking to the door and poking their heads around the edge. Thor was standing there beside the guard from yesterday, arms crossed and smirking as the guard presented the key.

Rhodey primly took the key and Bucky said, “ _Thank_ you, _Thor_ ,” before the door snapped shut; they could hear him laughing on the other side.

When night fell and all of the Earth-bound members gathered at the Bifrost, Rhodey and Bucky turned up in a fresh set of clothes – still holding hands. The looks they got ranged from confused to _knowing_.

“Didn't-?” Tony spluttered, pointing at them and then back at Asgard and then to his wrists. Rhodey and Bucky let go of each other's hands long enough to lift their arms and shake their wrists to indicate that the cuffs were, indeed, gone.

Any other reaction from the team was drowned out by Clint's victory screech.


	14. Day 14 - Stripper AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning for acephobia.**

Rhodey had always regarded himself as ahead of his peers since as far back as he could remember – developmentally, intellectually, and philosophically. From the ages of five to twelve, he was his parents' pride and the teachers' favorite. But then puberty came, and he fell far behind in one particularly... popular... field.

Sex.

He just didn't _get_ it.

Sure, at the age of thirteen, all of his other classmates were still rather tame in this regard – everybody still shrilly giggled whenever somebody whispered “penis” and pictures of breasts were considered the most scandalous of contraband. Rhodey, personally, never saw the appeal of anything that either the boys _or_ girls would gather around like a pack of hyenas and yip over. But, truly, all of that was mostly performance anyway, written off as some form of middle school rebellion where everybody seemed to be obsessed with genitals but never particularly titilated by them.

And so he continued, worrying himself instead over how his penis seemingly developed a mind of its own and how oily his skin was and worrying about whether or not he smelled. Then suddenly the next thing he knew it was sophomore year of high school, and David Manning was sitting at the desk to his right, talking to three of his pals about how Paula Jenson gave him a hand-job after Friday night's football game.

Ever since that moment, he noticed that almost everyone else was either engaging in sexual acts or fantasizing about them. The boys would gather in packs and leer at the girls or talk aggressively about the body parts of famous women, and the girls would gather in a cluster around a magazine with some shirtless actor on the cover with his shirt off and his pants hanging low under his hip bones and his arms folded behind his head and his lips parted and eyes lidded and absolutely _dripping_ wet, and instead of remarking about how unpleasant soaked blue jeans were and expressing sympathy for the man, they'd hiss about all the things they'd want to do to him. They were, in a way, more explicit than the boys.

Rhodey, meanwhile, continued to feel absolutely nothing.

He quickly found that whenever he brought this up with anyone they either warily prompted him about his health – like his mother, who immediately scheduled a doctor's appointment to see if he was “functioning right,” bless her heart – told him he just hadn't found the right person yet, or outright called him a “freak.”

Well, “freak” would be a summary. What they _usually_ said was, “So, what, are you broken?”

He tried to forget how cruelly they could expand on that.

Soon enough he learned how to completely evade the topic altogether and mastered the “smile and nod.” He threw himself into his schoolwork, instead, focusing all of his energies towards college and the very distant Masters Degree in Aerospace Engineering. Everything became about _getting_ a _way_ , so when the school councilor approached him and his parents about him skipping Junior year, all it took was one pleading look and they assented. Senior year was a blur of homework and FBLA and student council and scholarship applications, and then, finally, with his high school diploma and an acceptance letter from MIT, he was _free_. Free from the horny hormone-haze of high school, free from the classmates whose words were acid and razorblades, free from thinking about anything being “wrong” about him at all.

It was one week after he arrived on campus that Tony Stark careened into his life like a derailed freight train.

And here was the thing: Rhodey had never really had any friends. Kinda sad and pathetic, but true. He was always the “scary smart kid” who was also an “uptight prude” and was “too smart to be my friend, you make me feel dumb,” so if people weren't actively antagonistic towards him, they were coolly and distantly polite to the point of being nigh-on unbearable. He hadn't been lying to himself when he thought that MIT would be a new chapter in his life; nobody knew him and he never spent enough time with anyone for the subject to come up, and yeah, for the first week, it was nice.

Being a seventeen-year-old college freshman at MIT, though, would never fail to escape notice. And so it was that no one really interacted with him – if not out of the same echo from high school, then by the simple fact that he wasn't even old enough to vote.

So he was still alone. Until he wasn't.

Much could be written about how James Rhodes and Tony Stark seemed to slowly spiral closer and closer towards each other, being the only two freshman under the age of eighteen at seventeen and sixteen respectively, like a pair of meteorites affecting the other's orbit until they inevitably crashed into each other. It also probably helped that he didn't treat Tony Stark as a _Stark_ , either – he was just “that Tony guy with the oily skin and the acne and the greasy hair.”

Soon enough “that Tony guy” showed up at his dorm room door, hair askew in every direction with a crazed look in his eye, and in no less than five-thousand words begged him to agree to a dorm room transfer. He agreed. After that – in a matter of hours of living together, really – they discovered that they were polar opposites of each other. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, mind, such as how only opposite poles of magnets are attracted to each other. “That Tony guy” became simply “Tony,” and Rhodey was crowned with the name “Rhodey.”

Together, they created a strange kind of balance – Tony's mind and personality were rapid-fire and all over the place, and Rhodey's were slow and steady and solid, unshakeable. Tony would often and frequently drag Rhodey out of his comfort zone, and Rhodey, for his part, would slow Tony down to the point of functionality simply by the fact that if he was being dragged he was also a kind of anchor. Tony would nip at his heels to get him to branch out, and Rhodey would snap at him if he went too far. Tony enthusiastically expanded Rhodey's experience of humanity and the world, and Rhodey patiently listened and engaged in Tony's info-dumping for hours on end.

Over the course of the next four years, they stoked a kind of warm and mushy affection for one another. The experience of having a “best friend” was treasured by the both of them, and so things continued, until one of Tony's “experiences” that he wanted to introduce Rhodey to was sex.

It was at a party, and Tony had a hungry-eyed girl on each arm, rapidly explaining to them why Rhodey was “a catch,” and Rhodey's blood ran cold.

“No.”

“-and his _back muscles_ \- what do you mean, 'No'?” Tony looked at him with an easy, dismissing smile. “You don't really mean that, come _on_ , loosen up for _once_ -”

“ _Tony_ ,” Rhodey interrupted, strained and sharp. “Can I. Talk to you alone. For like, two – three minutes?”

“Uh, okay. Sorry girls!” Tony untangled himself from their arms and gave them a quick nod and wave before following Rhodey into an empty back alcove of the building, away from the party and the drinks and the dancing.

When Rhodey made sure that it was just them in the shadows, he hissed, “I'm a virgin.”

The darkness obscuring Tony's face did little to hide his bug-eyed stare. “You're shitting me.”

“ _No_ , I'm _not_.”

“Well, then – well then this is the perfect opportunity, isn't it?! Come on, we can fix this, being a virgin at the age of _twenty-one_ is just – sad, it's sad-”

“ _Tony_ ,” he snapped. He made to reach out as if to grab him by the arms but aborted the movement. “It's not. That. I don't – feel anything. Towards anyone. That way.” He could tell Tony was squinting at him. “I'm not – I don't get excited over any of that stuff. I don't feel attracted to – to anyone. Everybody's kind of just – there. Looking at a naked woman is like looking at a lamp, I just don't-”

“Maybe you just have to try it?” Tony suggested. Smiling. “Y'know, once you get going-”

Tony continued to talk as he grabbed Rhodey by the elbow and started pushing him back towards the dance floor, but Rhodey couldn't hear what he was saying. There was a fuzz in his head and his heartbeat was out of whack and he had no idea what his lungs were doing. There was also a kind of – crumbling sensation in his chest that he couldn't even begin to examine at that moment.

When the two girls came into view again, however, he made eye contact with one and then the other, and their sharp smiles vanished. They looked at him, then at each other, and shot him a sympathetic look before walking away and vanishing into the crowd.

Tony stopped pushing him and instead just stood there, confused. “I'm leaving,” Rhodey said, flat, then started walking and didn't stop until he was back in their dorm room.

He didn't see Tony at all that night or all the next day. When he finally came in through the door to Rhodey sitting on his bed, surrounded by textbooks and papers and tablets, he blurted, “I don't understand what I did wrong.”

They stared at each other for a long time. Tony looked like shit. His hair was limp and heavily plastered to his head and his eyes were bloodshot and his dark circles were a shade darker. Rhodey pressed his lips into a fine line before finally saying, “Sit down.”

Tony plopped heavily into his desk chair and spun around to face him with rapt attention. Rhodey sighed, then looked down at his knees.

“What I said last night... this has been a thing since puberty, man.” He moved his things towards the side of the bed, then scooted closer to the edge and uncrossed his legs. Tony was still silent and carefully listening. “I have never – ever – felt like... _doing_ _that_ with anyone. No matter what I did – pictures, porn, _books_ – there was nothing, there was always – nothing! And I'm not – comfortable – with doing any of that, because _I don't want to_ , okay?!”

Tony bit his lip and looked down at the ground, then folded his hands between his knees before looking back up. “Are you sure you aren't... gay...?” When Rhodey frowned at him, he hastily added, “'Cause I'd be cool with that!”

Rhodey took a deep breath. “Women. Men. No difference. Believe me, I tried.”

Tony started jiggling his leg. “So... do you not – like, get boners? Like, do you not... feel anything... down there?”

Rhodey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to ask me if I masturbate?” The very short laugh/squawk he heard from Tony was a good enough answer. “I get morning wood just like everybody else and _sometimes_ I do, _yeah_.”

“But... if you don't... then what do you... think about?”

Rhodey shrugged. “I dunno, like, clouds? What I'm gonna do that day?”

When he didn't hear anything, he opened his eyes and looked up. Tony was blinking rapidly in short bursts. Finally, he said, “Have you seen a doctor?”

Rhodey sighed. “Mom took me when I was fifteen, went again when I was eighteen; clean bill of health.”

Tony's leg was jiggling _very_ fast, now; then he stood up and went over to the bed and sat down beside him and said, “I'm sorry.”

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. “Sorry for wh-”

“Sorry for forcing you into something you didn't wanna do,” he amended quickly. “Last night. I won't do it again.”

Rhodey gave him a good, long look – just to watch him squirm, really – before he finally said, “Okay.”

The grin that appeared on Tony's face was almost blinding. “Okay.”

They sat next to each other in silence, smiling, happy with the sensation of cleaning a cut and putting a band-aid on it.

Then Tony opened his mouth and said, “Would you like to go with me to a strip club?”

Rhodey's smile snapped into a frown and he looked at him sharply. “ _Why_ would I want to go to a strip club?”

Tony held up three fingers. “I know a place that has a _damn fine_ bar,” he lowered a finger, “it's a queer club,” he lowered another, “and if there's any way that you can be absolutely, positively _sure_ , it's the place.” He lowered the last one and smiled, tiny, hopeful.

“One. Time.”

“ _One_ time.”

“All right.”

“ _All_ right.”

–

One week later, Rhodey and Tony were in the back of a taxi, on their way to a strip club called Howlers located in a brick building downtown. The taxi dropped them off a block away from the club, and after Tony paid him, they began making their way down the dark and dirty street under the flickering yellow street lamps at a brisk walk.

They were wearing their outing best – button-downs and slacks, really – and their wallets were bloated with cash bills. Tony couldn't stop grinning.

Rhodey side-eyed him. “You know, when you suggested this to me a week ago, it sounded like you came here before.”

Tony's grin grew tighter. “I was experimenting,” he said tersely.

Rhodey was quiet for another few steps before he prompted, “Did you... get any results?”

“Still experimenting,” was his only answer. Then Howlers came into view and Rhodey was more interested in observing the building.

The building looked to be the cleanest building on the entire street. The bricks were only a little bit faded, and there were no windows, and the neon sign that flashed _Howlers_ in pink and blue and yellow didn't even have a busted letter. On the front of the building, there were laminated posters of toned women and men splayed out and scantily clad with inviting smiles and playful leers. Phrases like “Come and Howl at Howlers Variety Strip Club” were in fancy font at the bottom.

It was all, in Rhodey's opinion, faintly ridiculous. But then they were walking in through the door and everything was _bright_ and _loud_ and _busy_.

He took in everything as fast as he could; the multi-colored lights, the bar to the left, the circular stage to the right, the tables, the booths, the stools surrounding the stage, the hallway in the back, the slow pulsing music. He thought the carpet and cushions were scarlet. The walls and ceiling were a kind of – royal beige, maybe, only everything was in a dim shade of purple or teal or gold. The only thing that wasn't in some color hue was the stage, which was brightly illuminated with white lights, and was also quickly coming closer because Tony was dragging him towards the stools.

They got the last two open seats, and everybody – “everybody” being both a hodgepodge of men and women and some others that looked androgynous – was excitedly murmuring to each other. Tony squeezed his elbow and leaned over and said, “At about this time they bring out each dancer one by one to dance to a song and then they all come out at once and after that they start taking lap dance requests, it's great.”

Soon enough all of the other color-lights dimmed in the back, making the stage the central focus, and the first dancer – a woman with dark brown skin and short, thick hair and a wicked smile – strutted out from behind the curtain in a corset and skirt and terrifyingly high heels as the first crooning chords of a song about desire came over the speakers. Everybody around him cheered. Rhodey frantically wondered if the dancers would be offended if they looked over and saw a completely impassive face or a forced smile.

Horrifically, five dancers in a row slowly came toward him as they made a round around the edges of the stage, sensually plucking bills out of people's hands. They always tended to linger in front of him for a few seconds more, smiling at him over their shoulders in what he guessed was friendly encouragement. He tipped them heavily and used the smile and nod that he hadn't used since high school, and they'd blessedly move away – a good thing, too, since the extra seconds of attention were beginning to culminate into dirty looks from the other patrons.

Personally, Rhodey loved it when they worked the pole the most – when they weren't taking their clothes off, they were moving with this kind of powerful grace and fluidity that he found quite beautiful, and when they started doing tricks on the pole, they did feats of such incredible flexibility and strength that he gaped.

No other dancer was quite as perceptive about this than Dancer Number 8.

A man with pale skin, blue eyes framed in winged eyeliner and blue eyeshadow, and brown hair combed into – of all things – a Regulation Cut strolled out onto the stage in a _blue pea coat_ , black _pants_ (that, granted, clung to him so tightly that nothing need be left to the imagination), and gray flats. This outfit seemed to be highly offensive to everyone around him – including Tony – and many either loudly made a noise of mock-protest or threw their hands up in friendly dismay, giving Rhodey the impression that the regulars were in on something that he wasn't.

The thing he wasn't in on was that the dancer immediately made his way to the pole to coyly lean against it, raise an eyebrow at everyone in the crowd, then slowly lean forward and hook a leg around it before rapidly swinging around, ripping off the coat in the process and casting it to the ground. Then, when he was down to a white blouse, he reached back to the pole and kicked his legs out and suddenly he was holding himself _perpendicular to the pole_.

When he was back on the ground he started nimbly unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt while undulating his hips to the beat of the song, looking around at the audience while nibbling on his bottom lip, as if considering. Then, he threw himself back to the pole, grabbing hold of it with his hands and swinging around once before grabbing it with his knees and beginning to climb.

When he was as high up as he could go, he let go with his hands and slowly laid back his torso until he was upside down, flat against the pole. His shirt slid down to his neck, and he arced his body, letting it fall off of him down to the ground, before rapidly following it himself – he clenched the muscles in his legs again to catch himself about four feet from the ground, and that was when he made eye contact with Rhodey – who wasn't so much ogling his torso as the muscles in his legs – blinked, and slowly smirked.

The rest of his routine included a sideways pull-up (pull-over?), upside down walking, 360' strutting, several rapid vertical tumbles, and slanted splits high in the air while holding on with only a leg and an arm. Rhodey was thoroughly enamored with his muscles, which he stared at the whole time, watching as they flexed and contracted and rippled under his skin. His entire performance was very sensual, and the man himself was aesthetically pleasing. When he came around the edge of the stage, Rhodey gave him the biggest tip of the night – he saw the 20 on the bill and his eyes bulged momentarily before he beamed at him and moved on – and when he left the stage and the last dancer came on, Rhodey was _very impressed_ by it all.

But still not aroused.

Which was why, when the lights in the back brightened again and people began clamoring for either drinks or lap dances, he turned to Tony to ask if they were going to leave. But there was no one but an empty stool.

Rhodey looked frantically around and finally spotted him coming towards him, grinning ear-to-ear. He hopped off of the stool and hurried over to him, but Tony held a hand up and went, “I have a surprise for you!”

Rhodey blinked. “Do you?”

Tony rapidly nodded. “You know that stripper you were drooling over? The guy with the coat? I bought you a private lap dance!”

Rhodey felt his insides turn to ice again. “What.”

“Yeah! Go on!” Tony gave him a gentle shove towards the back hallway. “It only cost me thirty bucks! Booth two! Have fun! Remember to tip! Off you go!”

And then Tony was gone, back into the throng of the crowd, and he _paid_ for this, and the stripper was probably waiting for him, and he was taking up his valuable time by standing there like a petrified deer in headlights. So, Rhodey forced his legs to work, and walked step by rigid step towards that back hallway.

He walked until he saw the number 2 on a placard beside a curtain. He pushed the curtain aside and walked into the tiny room filled only with a scarlet arm-chair and stiffly sat down. The stripper wasn't there yet. He tried to get himself to take deep breaths, but he ended up crumpling in on himself instead – crossing his legs, hunching his shoulders, clutching his knee, and clenching his jaw. He _didn't want to be here_ and he _didn't want to do this_.

Then the stripper came in through the curtain wearing nothing but bikini briefs, the flats, and a coy smirk, saying, “So what are we in the mood – f-for... today...” He stuttered to a halt and blinked at Rhodey, who was curled into himself and looking like he was going to be tortured instead of entertained. Then his expression melted from playful to angry and everything “sexy” about his body language vanished. “Did someone put you up to this? Were you pranked?”

Rhodey stiffened even more. “What.”

“Did a straight buddy of yours think this would be funny?”

Rhodey's eyes widened. “No. No! It's not-” he untangled his limbs and huffed a breath. “He – he meant well, don't – do anything to him. Or something.”

The stripper – Rhodey really wished he could call him by a name instead of “the stripper” – stared at him for a long moment, then seemed to deflate. He languidly crossed his arms, then prompted, “What do you mean by 'mean well'?” in a much more friendly tone. (He couldn't have his voice too gentle, as there was a speaker in the room and the music was still rather loud.)

Rhodey frowned and bit the inside of his cheek before answering. “He kind of – brought me here to... well. I don't really feel attracted to anybody and I don't find people sexy and he thought maybe-”

The guy inflated again in about 0.2 seconds. “Don't tell me he wanted to ' _fix_ ' you,” he huffed, looking both horrified and offended.

“Uh.” Rhodey wrung his hands, once, then stuck them between his knees. “You mean... there's nothing to fix?”

The guy gave him a good, long look, then his eyes widened momentarily – his arms fell back down to his sides and the features on his face smoothed out. “Have you ever heard of the term 'asexual'?”

Rhodey crinkled his brow. “Like – with plants? Starfish?”

The guy huffed something between a laugh and a sigh then looked down at the floor. He worked his jaw for a moment, then looked up and said, “I will be _right back_ ,” then he darted out of the room.

Rhodey stared at the swaying curtain for what seemed like a small eternity before the guy hurried back in with a sticky-note. “Here.”

Rhodey warily took it and read what was on it: _AVEN_ , and then a URL, in scrawly print. He looked back up at the stripper and slowly smiled. “Thanks?”

The stripper stepped aside from the curtain and gestured towards it. “Absolutely no problem.”

Rhodey stood up and, while carefully holding the note in one hand, fished into his pocket for his wallet with the other. He took out the rest of his cash – twenty dollars – and handed it to the stripper, whose eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Here.”

The guy looked at the money, then up at him, then at the money, then plucked it out of his hands and beamed at him again. “Get home safely.”

Rhodey nodded and moved to leave, then paused and asked, “Hey, can I get a name?”

The stripper chuckled. “The only name you're getting is 'James,' pal.” Rhodey snorted. “What?”

“Nothing.” Rhodey waved him off, then turned back one more time. “Thanks... James.” He got a smile, and then he left.

When he and Tony got back to their dorm, and after Tony was fast asleep in his own bed, he took out his laptop and typed in the URL on the post-it note. _The Asexual Visibility & Education Network_, it read.

When he finished reading the 'Overview' page, he leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, covered his face, and shook.

–

One week later he returned to Howlers without Tony and got a seat at the stage-side. He sat through the line-up again, tipped accordingly, and when James came out and spotted him, he got an eyebrow quirk. He gave him a few more dollars in a tip, watched the last dancer, tipped her, and then bought another private lap dance with him.

Rhodey set himself down in the chair, and when James slinked in through the curtain, he sat up straight and said, “Before anything else I wanna say I'm sorry.”

James leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

“Do you...” Rhodey bit his lip, then continued, “do you have any more? Resources?”

James grimaced, then sighed and looked down. “Look, uh... I'm queer but I'm no savant. I can point you to some ace-friendly groups, maybe? But not much else.”

Rhodey nodded. “Okay, sounds great.” He listened attentively as James recited the names and locations or websites of said groups, committed them to memory, then stood up to leave.

“ _Whoa_ ,” James interrupted, holding out a hand. Rhodey paused. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Uh.”

“We've been in here for, like, fifty seconds. This song still has over two minutes left. You leave now with that look on your face and they'll have my ass.”

Rhodey blinked at him a few times, then slowly sank back into the chair.

They stared at each other for a long moment before James said, with a wry twist to his mouth, “Y'know, I can do a pretty good lap dance.”

Rhodey eyed him, standing there smirking in his underwear. “I bet you can,” he agreed, warily.

Then James laughed, which made Rhodey laugh, and James asked, “So, did you tell that friend you were talking about? The one who meant well?”

Rhodey sat back and smiled. “Yeah, actually. I showed him the site you wrote down and talked to him about it and I think the thing that surprised him most was that he never heard of it before.”

“So he reacted well? He's accepting?”

“As much as he can be, yeah.”

“That's good to hear.”

“He said it was kind of funny that I learned about it from a stripper, though.”

James gave him a _look_. “We strippers are old souls and dispensers of wisdom. Never underestimate us.”

“So I've learned.” They laughed again.

“So – if you don't mind me asking – what do you do in life? The way you tip, I'm tempted to say you're a businessman.”

“I'm in college, actually,” Rhodey answered. James's eyebrows rose. “MIT, actually.” They rose higher. “To get a Masters in Aerospace Engineering.” They were in his hair, and he gave a low whistle.

“That's pretty. Wow. I'm – impressed.”

Rhodey shrugged. When the conversation lulled after that – James was looking at him a bit differently – he opened his mouth to ask if James did anything outside of stripping, then promptly shut it.

“What?”

“Nah, I figured it was too personal.”

“Then it probably was, and please don't ask.”

Rhodey carefully met his eye and nodded. “Okay, uh...” He thought. “Uh.” He thought some more. “I can't really think of anything that's not personal. I dunno, what's your favorite color?”

James chuckled and looked at the ground before shaking his head. “Y'know, you're all right, uh...?”

Rhodey smirked. “James.”

James blinked. “No shit.”

“Not shitting.”

James giggled and tipped his head back to gently knock into the wall. “Ah, yeah, that's the thing about taking 'James' up as a stage name.”

“Why did you pick 'James,' anyway?”

James looked him straight in the eye, and with a completely serious expression, said, “Because 'Bob' didn't sound as sexy.”

Rhodey snorted and then they both dissolved into a chuckle-fit. When they finally stopped, the final chords of the song were fading out. The second song. James's eyes bulged. “Shit. _Shit_.”

Rhodey jumped up and fished out his wallet, then pressed a twenty and a ten into his hand. “There. Sorry. About taking up your time. Will this make up for it?”

James stared down at the thirty-dollar tip, then looked up at him with a serene smile. “Did you know you're my favorite person?”

Rhodey chuckled and shook his head. “Take care.” And he left.

–

He was back the next weekend.

That time, he didn't take a seat by the stage, but instead sat in a booth to nurse a beer. The line-up played out as usual – James didn't notice him, either because the lights were too dim or there were too many people around or he was paying closer attention to those around the stage or all of the above – so when the lights brightened again, the strippers began to file into the room and offer lap dances. James, for his part, came out in the bikini briefs instead of the pants, took a good look around the room, then further back – then suddenly his face lit up and he made a beeline towards the bar.

Rhodey peeked over the back of the booth, and through the crowd he saw him hop up onto a stool beside a very small, very thin, and very pale blonde man in a baggy T-shirt and skinny jeans. Rhodey tried to get a better look; the guy was wearing glasses and there was a noticeable hearing-aid in his ear. He and James were talking to each other in tiny grins and shoulder-bumps. They looked really happy. Rhodey turned back around and scolded himself for being so curious about who James interacted with in the first place.

After a while he looked back again and James was gone but the blonde guy was still there reading a book. He got up and returned his glass to the bar and then sort of wandered around – he was approached by four different strippers offering him a lap dance, which he declined with a polite “no thanks” – until finally he spotted James coming out of a room after a blushing woman. Their gazes met, and James smirked and rolled his eyes before beckoning him over. Rhodey got his money ready.

When they were alone in a booth together, Rhodey sat down and James carefully perched himself on the arm-rest and prompted, “ _So_ , what wise words can I dispense today?”

Rhodey leaned back in the chair and looked guilty. “Uh... I actually came here to relax, for once.”

James blinked. “Does this mean you _actually_ want a lap-”

“ _No_ , I don't want a lap dance.” James quirked an eyebrow, and Rhodey meekly added, “Thanks?”

“So... you came here. And paid thirty bucks. To talk with someone for about – three minutes?”

“Well, talk with _you_ , specifically, but, kinda, yeah.”

James huffed and shook his head. “Man, what kind of life do you have where _this_ is your idea of relaxation?”

“A damn chaotic one.”

James grinned. “All right. What's new with your life?”

“I've decided I'm going to enlist in the Air Force.”

James leaned back as far as he could without falling off of the chair. “Oh really?”

Rhodey smiled and looked down. “I thought about it for a long time, and then I finally said, 'I have the chance to make something of myself and make things better,' so.”

James tensed slightly beside him and shifted, uncomfortable. “Y'know... the military isn't really all that – there's things that go on that aren't necessarily. It's not always good.”

Rhodey's smile shifted into a humorless grin. “That's what I meant with the 'make things better.' Both sides.”

James's eyes widened minutely and a genuine, surprised smile flickered across his face. “...Y'know, I think you're my type.”

It was finally Rhodey's turn to quirk a brow. “Your type?”

James's smile grew, then he shrugged and looked away. “I dunno. It's hard to describe. Not-quite-idealists who pick not-quite-impossible fights. A type.” Rhodey hummed, and then there was a length of silence between them before James volunteered, “You can ask something about me at this point, I think.”

Rhodey bit his lip, then ventured, “That guy you were with at the bar... The blonde one... Is he your boyfriend?”

James chuckled and looked away. “A _lot_ of people think that, but no, actually, we're just...” his mouth twisted. “He's my friend, but I don't think people place enough value on that word. 'Brother' doesn't quite fit. We're not romantic with each other. We're just... we're us.” He shrugged, then looked back. “We're best friends.”

Rhodey mused on that for a bit. “My relationship with T- with my friend, is uh, kinda different from the 'norm,' too, I guess. So I think I understand.”

They settled into a contemplative silence, and then the song faded out. Rhodey stood and fished out his wallet while James stood, then pressed another twenty into his hand. “For putting up with me,” he said.

James just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as he left. “Don't be a stranger!”

–

The fourth time Rhodey showed up at the club and bought a “lap dance,” James came in with a pen and a notepad, writing as he walked.

“What are you-” Rhodey began, but then James tore the page off and pressed it into his hand. It was a phone number.

James sat down on the arm-rest, leaned in, and quietly said, “My name is Bucky Barnes and that's my phone number. If you wanna talk, you can call or text me anytime Monday through Friday from nine to five. After the first call, I expect you to take me out and buy me a drink. Got it?”

Rhodey blinked. “Okay.”

And that was that.

–

That first call was inevitable, really; it happened on a Wednesday afternoon while Tony was still out, leaving Rhodey alone in the dorm. It wasn't hard after that – he scrolled through his contacts until he got to “Bucky,” debated pressing call for five minutes, then pressed call.

Bucky picked up on the third ring with a suspicious, “...Hello?”

“Hey! Bucky! It's – it's me, James. From the club.”

“ _James!_ ”

“I actually kind of like going by Rhodey, more, if I'm honest.”

“ _Rhodey_ , then!”

From that point, they talked far longer than all of the other times combined: one hour and thirty-two minutes, about anything that came to mind. Rhodey talked about the recent shenanigans at MIT, and Bucky talked about the quirky goings-on at Howlers. Rhodey gave vague updates about his personal life, and Bucky did the same. Then they started talking about politics, and philosophy, and morals, and those were what truly made up the meat of their behemoth conversation.

When they finally settled into a comfortable silence on each end of the line, Rhodey prompted, “So... I owe you a drink, now, right?”

Bucky's laughter was a pleasant sound on the other end of the line. “I'm off on Friday, if that's good for you.”

And so they were set to meet at the Iron Flagon – a rustic place with landscape paintings on the walls and a jukebox – at 5PM Friday night. Rhodey arrived at 4:45PM and bought an ale, clad in his favorite polo shirt and khaki pants – Tony called them “rich tacky dad” clothes, and Rhodey simply replied that _he_ was one to talk, considering that he once went out in public wearing sweat pants and a silk scarf – and anxiously awaited Bucky's arrival while trying to ignore the fact that this would be his first time seeing him while not swinging from a pole or undulating on the floor or in his underwear.

At 4:57PM the front door opened and a man who _could_ have been Bucky walked in, looked around, spotted him, smiled slightly, and then came over.

So he _was_ Bucky. Only, he was Bucky in a green hoodie and blue jeans and tennis shoes with no makeup on his face and no product in his hair. The clothes that hid his muscles made him seem smaller, somehow; a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, and there was no concealer to hide the dark circles under his eyes.

His body language and mannerisms were different, too. Instead of sensually swaying his hips when he walked, slow and full of purpose, he simply... walked – there was still a swagger to his steps, but it seemed more for him, and less for other people. His shoulders were slumped instead of square and drawn back, yet it wasn't like he was hunched in on himself. He looked casual and tired, yes; but not particularly strained.

Rhodey thought he looked rather nice.

Bucky sat down on the stool beside him, turned to face him, and said, “I'll have a virgin cider.”

Rhodey wrinkled his brow. “Don't you want a...”

Bucky chuckled. “I'm nineteen. My ID wouldn't be accepted. Now can I have that drink, or not?”

Rhodey waved the bartender over and decided not to bring up his age again unless he did.

Once Bucky got his drink, they got to talking again – mostly about non-personal things, like the news or what movies they were looking forward to seeing. They spent two hours like that, easily talking and enjoying each other's company, until finally Rhodey paid for their drinks and left the tip and they started walking towards the doors. When they were outside, Rhodey turned to him and carefully suggested, “Y'know, we should do this again sometime.”

Bucky's eyes crinkled. “Well, I guess we could go out to dinner sometime. Just don't pick any place too fancy, because we're splitting the bill. Okay?”

Rhodey huffed a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

Bucky grinned and clapped him on the elbow. “Stay in touch,” he said, and then walked away.

–

Over the course of the next several months, as fall came and settled then began to fade into winter, Rhodey continued to call him during the weekdays whenever there was a dull moment or whenever he needed someone _calming_ to talk to. They also slowly began going out more and more, and gradually, they began to trust each other enough to talk about their personal lives.

It was over a steak dinner when it happened. There was a candle on the table and Bucky had laughed himself to tears after Rhodey made a dry comment about the Fox News story playing on the TV perched on the wall, and things were feeling particularly warm between them, so Rhodey warily ventured, “You know, before I decided to major in aerospace engineering, I thought about majoring in journalism.”

Bucky wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes and prompted, “Really?” He picked up his fork and knife again and began cutting off another piece of steak. “Why's that?”

“I was captain of my school's debate team and also the head editor of the yearbook and the school newspaper.” Rhodey shrugged, and ate a forkful of green beans before adding, “I was pretty good. Especially in debate. Everybody said that I have a mean poker face and a cool head. My mom-” he smiled and dropped his gaze to his plate “-said, 'That boy's gonna change the world some day.'”

When he looked back up, Bucky was smiling softly, looking impressed and... something else. “So what made you change your mind?”

Rhodey filled up his fork again. “Science just interested me more. I thought about joining NASA, maybe, but I wasn't... satisfied with that. I still wanted to – do something, change things. Help people. So the Air Force seemed like the obvious next step. I'm still changing the world, just in the military, not the media.”

Bucky hummed and nodded. After he finished chewing another bite of steak, he quietly said, “I'm trying to get an Associate's in auto mechanics.”

“Auto mechanics? You wanna be a mechanic?”

Bucky smirked, briefly. “Dad worked in a shipping yard and Grandpa was a miner. Great Grandma worked for Ford during World War II. My family kinda has a history of being manual laborers.”

“And you chose auto mechanics, because...”

“I like to think I'm pretty good at fixing stuff,” Bucky huffed with a wry tone of humor. Then he shrugged. “I'm good with my hands and I like finding out how things work, so I thought, why not? Cars are pretty interesting. The salary is solid.” He shrugged again.

Rhodey bounced his knee for a few seconds before venturing, “So, what made you get into... the whole...” He quirked his eyebrows. “Thing.”

Bucky's fork slowed to a halt in mid-air, and then slowly fell back to his plate. Bucky gave him a long, wary look, then said, “Have I ever told you about Steve?”

“Once or twice, I guess.”

There was another long pause. “Would you like to meet him? I'm off next Saturday and we were going to go bowling with the guys. You could bring Tony, too. If he wants to come.”

Rhodey graciously took the out he was given. “Yeah, I'd like to meet him – and that sounds great. I'll, uh. I'll ask Tony and text you his answer.”

Bucky finished what was on his plate, swallowed, then smiled. “Sounds good. Now, what's the bill...?”

–

“You wanna drag me along to go bowling with your stripper boyfriend?”

“He's _not my boyfriend_ and for the love of _God_ please don't call him a stripper if we go.”

“O _kay_ , okay, it was a joke, _sheesh_ , calm down. And I'm just saying – given the unique circumstances of your not-sexual awakening – the fact that it was a stripper who enlightened you and who you keep going on dates-”

“Are you going or not, Tony.”

“I'm going! Definitely going! I wanna go! Please by all means take me!”

“ _Thank_ you.”

–

The bowling alley was a place called Minstrel's and it turned out that “the guys” were guys from Howlers – two bouncers who went by Dum Dum and Gabe – and the DJ named Jim.

Everybody was either in a sweater or a T-shirt or – in Rhodey's case – a medium-sleeved Henley, and everyone was in some form of jeans. Bucky, Steve, Dum Dum, Gabe, and Jim were hanging around the front doors waiting for Rhodey and Tony to arrive, and when they did, they were greeted by a dull roar of welcome and then shepherded off towards the counter to rent their shoes.

As they all started making their way towards their bowling lane, Tony immediately latched onto Bucky and started talking to him rapidly, starting with a, “ _So_ , you and Rhodey.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “Me and Rhodey.”

“ _What_ , exactly, is the nature of your relationship?”

“Uhhh...”

Rhodey moved to open his mouth and call him off, but that was when Steve came over to him with a polite smile and said, “Hey, so you're Rhodey?”

Rhodey gave one last strained look at Tony and Bucky, who was telling Tony they were just friends who liked to hang out, thanks, why, was he jealous? Tony replied with a puh-lease, he was glad to have him out of his hair, and then started a rant about all of his annoying habits such as his tendency to mix up their laundry, which Bucky listened to with a grave frown. So yeah, they'd be fine. He looked back at Steve, who looked different up close – even smaller, in a way, considering that he was about five inches shorter than Rhodey, and the leather jacket he was wearing didn't help much in hiding how thin he was – and gave him a polite smile back.

“Yup, that's me.”

“Y'know, I've heard a lot about you these past few months.”

“Good things?”

Steve smirked. “Things,” he replied vaguely, and then they were all sitting down and putting on their shoes and getting ready to bowl.

The entire night was a rather ridiculous affair – for example, Dum Dum, who insisted on wearing a bowler hat and a hideously garish maroon sweater, would step up to the line and hoist his bowling ball while Gabe cried out, “ _C'mon_ , Tiny Tim!” While Rhodey pondered the nick-name, seeing as Dum Dum more resembled a grizzly-bear, Dum Dum hurled the ball down the lane to crash into the pins with a loud _crack_ that by no means belonged to anyone called “Tiny Tim,” even if it only took out four pins. Later on he learned that they all had strange nicknames – Gabe, for example, was “The Angel of Spares,” Jim was “The Turkey Man,” Bucky was “Ten-Pin Jimmy,” and Steve was cryptically referred to as “The Captain.”

Furthermore, Tony and Steve continued to do their not-at-all-subtle interrogations of their respective targets throughout the night; Tony grilled Bucky about what exactly he found interesting about Rhodey and where he wanted their relationship to go mixed thoroughly in between light jokes and friendly jabs, while Steve continuously pried Rhodey about how they met and why he continued to seek him out in a too-polite voice that was rather unsettling. They eventually seemed satisfied, however; Bucky pulled Tony aside and told him in frank terms that it was Rhodey's company he enjoyed, not his money, thank you and fuck off, and Rhodey looked Steve in the eye and told him that Bucky was a valued and supportive friend. Tony stumbled over an apology and called him a “good egg” and Steve's polite smile turned genuine as he said that he was happy that they made each other happy, and that was the end of that.

Near the end of the night, Steve and Jim were neck-and-neck for first place – Steve was a wizard with angles and curves and Jim was ace at precision strikes – while Dum Dum and Tony were in a bloody feud for Not Last, seeing as both of their strategies seemed to be “throw the ball hard enough that the pins get scared and fall down in surrender.” Tony managed to beat him in the end, though, if only due to the fact that he couldn't throw the ball as fast, and thus the pins had time to wobble instead of seemingly blinking out of existence.

Jim was the last to bowl with eight pins down and two left in a split. If he got the spare, he'd win; if he didn't, Steve would. He glowered at the pins and licked his lips, then stepped back, and bowled.

The ball zoomed towards the pin on the right and nicked it in the side; the pin shot sideways and bumped into the pin on the left, which wobbled, and wobbled, and wobbled, and... stood.

Jim fell to his knees and wailed in despair as Steve jumped up onto Bucky's back and crowed victory; everybody else bellowed their mixture of cheer for Steve and sympathy for Jim. Rhodey thought it was one of the most fun nights of his life.

After the bowling escapade, and as Christmas approached, Steve and Tony slowly began joining them on their outings, and the four of them would often go to movies or restaurants or any other leisurely activities they could think of – always paid jointly, as both Bucky and Steve were the kind of people to rigidly refuse having other people pay on their behalf.

Watching Tony and Steve interact was like watching an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object. When they weren't bickering over petty nothings, they were trying to convince each other to do something to no avail. Then one day Rhodey and Bucky overheard them discussing _foreign policy_ , of all things, even though by what they could hear it sounded like Steve dragged Tony into the conversation kicking and screaming. They were both so proud.

Bucky and Rhodey also gradually became both emotionally and physically closer, seen by how Bucky once called and asked if they could meet alone at a restaurant known for having private booths. Rhodey warily agreed, and when he showed up in his casual best – a sweater and khakis, really – he followed Bucky into a booth in the corner and stayed silent all the way until after they ordered and the food arrived. Then, after the waitress left and closed the curtains, Bucky prompted, “Do you remember asking me how I got into the sex industry?”

Rhodey sat up. “You- you don't have to answer that question, you know.”

Bucky continued looking steadily at him. “I know. But I want to. I gotta – I want someone to know who isn't Steve. So. Here it goes.” He took deep breath, then looked down at his food. “My family didn't really have much and Steve had even less. We latched onto each other in elementary school and never looked back.” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and then looked up. “We grew up on welfare. Ate on food stamps. Collectors were always calling my parents' house, and Steve's mom...” his face fell. “She was real. Sickly, y'know. Kept getting lung infections. And then she – couldn't take one, I guess, and she passed away when Steve was seventeen. She was like an aunt, or- or a second mother to me.”

“I'm sorry,” Rhodey said softly.

Bucky tightly nodded, then continued. “My folks took him in under our roof and we took care of the funeral expenses, and after that, we just – focused on getting out of there, y'know?” He paused. “Steve was always interested in art and I already told you about the mechanic thing, so we did everything we could to get scholarships and grants and stuff because student loans are fucking terrifying.” He paused, longer, then, and his face screwed up. “The thing was, though... when Steve turned eighteen he no longer qualified for Medicaid and I didn't have any health insurance either so we were shit out of luck. He's on this – private plan, now, because it was the only one that would take him because he has a lot of chronic shit and I'm on a cheaper one, but the co-pays are – are – they're brutal. Not as brutal as if we got saddled with the whole thing, but.”

“I understand.”

“And we were _trying_ – we really were – and we rented an apartment together and we shared the bills but the jobs we had barely covered everything, let alone _food,_ because _high school diplomas_ – yeah, that's another thing, we don't qualify for food stamps – so when his stomach got to hurting real bad that winter and I took him to the hospital the bill came and we. We couldn't make it. So he took out a loan and that was when I went, 'Enough.' And so I told myself I'd do whatever it took, and I saw an ad saying that Howlers was looking for dancers, and, well.” He sighed heavily and looked up with a tired smile.

Rhodey absently stirred his rice while he thought of an answer. Eventually, he asked, “Do you regret it?”

Bucky huffed a laugh and started poking at his food with his fork. “No. Absolutely not. Howlers is a good place run by a good staff. They don't bullshit you out of your money and you get what you earn – which is _a lot_. We payed off that loan in no time, and instead of gritting his teeth through whatever's bothering him like a fucking martyr he actually gets his ass to a doctor, now, so.” He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then said, “Do I wish I could be doing something else? Maybe, yeah. Do I enjoy rubbing myself up on poles and laps? No, not really. Do I like getting propositioned by creepy assholes? _Fuck_ no. But it could be worse. It could've been much worse, and I'm glad things worked out the way they did, and until I see a better option, there's nothing on Earth that can make me quit.”

Rhodey hummed around his mouthful and then swallowed. “Well, then. Sounds legitimate to me.”

Bucky smiled at him. “Glad you think so.”

–

Christmas break came and they all left Cambridge to spend it with their respective families, but when they returned in January, Tony surprised Bucky and Steve by gifting them each a three-thousand-dollar gift card. They both stared at the cards in their hands blankly while Tony rattled off rapid-fire about how they were pretty okay guys and he liked how the four them became a little bundle of friends and that they deserved to treat themselves because they were good people and he'd see them later and then bolted out of the room, physically dragging Rhodey by the wrist behind him.

Neither Bucky nor Steve called for two weeks, and Tony was beginning to panic and Rhodey was beginning to become concerned when they heard one of their cell phones ring from somewhere around their dorm room floor. They both dived towards the noise at the same time and then wrestled each other for the phone before Rhodey pinned Tony to the ground and answered with a breathless, “Hello?”

It was Steve's voice. “Hey, uh. Do you guys wanna go bowling Saturday?”

Both Rhodey and Tony physically deflated. “Yeah. Yeah, you bet your ass we wanna go bowling.”

“Great. And, uh. One more thing?”

Rhodey leaned down so the phone was closer to Tony's ear. “Yeah?”

There was a pause. “Thanks,” said Steve. “For those cards,” added Bucky's voice. And then they hung up.

Rhodey lowered his phone and leveled Tony with a look. “You dodged some serious shit.”

Tony laughed.

–

Over the course of the next three years, they tracked their relationship in the development of physical gestures – one day Rhodey grabbed Bucky's hand as they were walking and didn't get an elbow in the ribs; then Bucky swung his feet up onto Rhodey's lap as they sat on the couch watching a baseball game; then Rhodey fell asleep on Bucky's shoulder one time, and Bucky sat still for over an hour; and then the casual touching started. Both men would sit beside the other as they engaged in conversation, and then one would casually touch the other's knee, or shoulder, or back, or the crook of their elbow as they talked. Two particularly memorable occurrences – at least for Tony and Steve – were when Rhodey rested a hand on the small of Bucky's back and Bucky rested a hand on the nape of Rhodey's neck. Each time this happened Tony and Steve would share a look of long-suffering solidarity, then return to the conversation at hand.

Their feelings towards one another also began to change, slowly and almost imperceptibly. Both began to feel a fluttering feeling in their chest whenever they saw the other's name appear on their caller ID. They also began to sit shoulder-to-shoulder or thigh-to-thigh and sneak glances at each other with soft, fond expressions. They began to regard each other as slightly... different from best friends, even though they couldn't quite place what that difference was.

Bucky and Steve got their diplomas for auto mechanics and fine arts, respectively, and tentatively went out into the floundering job market. Steve managed to get a job as a graphic designer, and Bucky managed to worm his way into a low-paying position at an auto repair garage. After long, grueling weeks of internal debate and tentative discussions with Steve, he decided to stay on with Howlers, at least as a side-job, in order to keep the extra cash-flow.

Rhodey and Tony, meanwhile, continued to strive for their Masters degrees, which seemed to be approaching faster and faster. Then, suddenly, they were only a year away from graduation, and Tony was beginning to tinker with AI theory and making arrangements for a workshop back in Malibu while Rhodey began preparations for being deployed to Iraq in one year's time.

It was when Rhodey was sitting at his desk, beginning to write his Living Will and Last Will and Testament, that the full-realization that everything was going to drastically change washed over him.

Furthermore, about two months before Rhodey and Tony's graduation, while the four of them were having dinner at a restaurant, Steve announced that he got a job offer from a department in New York City that offered a dramatically higher wage. Tony gave him a high five and Rhodey enthusiastically shook his hand while Bucky watched from the chair beside him with an uncertain, strained smile.

One week before graduation, Rhodey and Bucky were walking together in a park, and Rhodey was talking about his chances of being promoted to an officer when he noticed that Bucky kept staring at his lips. He paused and reached up to touch them, immediately thinking that there was sauce or something; he felt nothing, and after he rubbed them a few times, he looked back up to Bucky to ask if he got whatever it was, but stopped when he saw that Bucky wasn't looking at him and blushing something fierce.

“... _Oh_.”

“Oh what?”

“ _Oh_ , you wanna...” he bit his lip and shifted his weight. “Do you?”

Bucky still wouldn't look at him. “You know, you're really fucking embarrassing, you know that?”

“Aw.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you, though?”

“We're in public.”

“I don't care.”

“ _I do_.”

Rhodey rose his hands in surrender and began walking again, smirking. Bucky kicked at his ankle and Rhodey elbowed him in the side and then picked up where he left off.

The night after graduation, Rhodey and Tony came to Steve and Bucky's apartment for celebratory drinks, and Rhodey was on a tirade about how Don't Ask, Don't Tell was one of the most pointless, baseless, and ridiculous pieces of legislation ever passed, when he noticed that Bucky was the only one in the room, and the look in his eyes made him stop. He blinked, slowly, and then smiled; Bucky rolled his eyes with a small, fond grin, then leaned in. Rhodey met him halfway, and they both closed their eyes and kissed for a few seconds, warm and sweet, before Rhodey grinned and Bucky smiled and it became too toothy to continue.

The next thing any of them knew, they were all at the airport, Rhodey in uniform and Tony in a suit, set to get on separate planes. Steve and Bucky were there to see them off, and none of them could have possibly known how hard the goodbyes would be.

“So, I, uh,” Tony began, haltingly, looking at the three of them. He wrinkled his nose, and then said, “This is it.”

“Skype exists, you know,” piped Steve, even though he was visibly fighting a frown. His train was scheduled to leave the next day.

Bucky crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. “We can – we can all try our best, right? To stay in touch?”

“You betcha,” said Tony, while Rhodey agreed, “As much as I can.”

They all stood there staring at each other, lost for what to say; then Steve moved in and hugged Rhodey tightly. Rhodey, surprised, hugged back. When Steve let go and moved towards Tony, however, Tony took a dramatic step back and raised his arms in an 'X.' Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head while Rhodey and Bucky hugged behind him with a heavy clap on each other's backs.

They all gave each other one last, long look, before Tony slowly started backing away. “Everybody – take care, I guess.”

Rhodey started moving off towards the crowd, too. “Wish me luck!”

They all shouted replies to each other, and with one last “Don't be a stranger!” from Bucky, they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CinemaSins voice] Scene does not contain a lap dance. *ding!*
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> Originally this fic was going to be twice as long, but that would be over 20,000 words, and I wouldn't want that in a 30 Day Challenge compilation. Plus, this was a lovely place to stop, so I stopped. There might not be closure, but I hope it was a good ride.


	15. Day 15 - Office Romance AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has not been kind.
> 
> I'm going to be frank, here: updates are probably going to slow _way_ down and the fills will be relatively shorter. But! I _do_ intend to see this challenge through to the very end. This chapter marks the official Halfway Point, so I have officially reached the hump. I am over the hill. Huzzah.

The usually monotone, gray-splashed 12th floor of the office building was splashed with color – strings of Christmas-tree lights hung from the walls accompanied by little paper Santas and snowflakes, a smorgasbord of reds and greens and whites and yellows and blues. They were even allowed to listen to soft Christmas music in the background as they worked, and their manager appeared with the first of his several-dozen Christmas-themed light-up ties. He was wearing his favorite – Rudolph, complete with blinking nose and a song if you squeeze his ear – when he called everyone into the meeting room for a “special conference.”

Bucky immediately sought out Natasha as everyone left their cubicles and started following their manager's cheerful, carrying voice. When he found her, he bumped her elbow and murmured, “So, what do you think it is this time?”

Natasha smirked. “Last year it was a sleepover to watch 'A Charlie Brown Christmas.' He's gonna be hard-pressed to top that.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “I thought only three people showed up.”

Natasha's smirk widened. “You're right. I'm wondering how desperate he is this year.”

Bucky tried his best to restrain his chuckle; he really did. “We're being mean. I mean, I'm sure he tries hard.”

“It's kind of endearing,” she whispered back, and then they were all sitting around the huge conference table. Clint was the last one in; he shut the door a little too loudly and then skittered around his co-workers shifting their chairs to plop into the spare seat beside Natasha. Then, their manager was talking.

“Welcome, everyone, to our _seventh_ annual Christmas shenaniganza!” he boomed, then clapped his hands together. His eyes were as wide as Rudolph's on his tie. “Now, I know that our events have been somewhat... _lacking_ these past few years-” someone snorted; their manager shot an accusatory glare toward them all “-due no doubt to a lack of _unit cohesion_. We are supposed to be a _family_ here at Myers  & Cambridge, so that's precisely what we're going to do this year!” His eyes flashed into a sort of wild menace, and then he stooped and pulled something out from behind the podium by the Smart Board. He plunked it down onto the table, and everybody leaned forward to get a good look at what it was.

“Oh God,” said Foster.

“This year we are having a Secret Santa exchange!” the manager trilled, indicating the large jar full of folded paper slips.

Clint turned to the two of them and signed, _How long do you think that took him?_ Bucky and Natasha smirked; Bucky signed _All night_ while Natasha signed _November_. Their movements were well-concealed by everybody else's nervous murmuring and uncomfortable shifting.

“There are rules!” the manager continued. “Each present is due on the 23rd, where we'll give everyone their present during our Christmas party! We will pass around the jar and everyone will pick one name and one name only! If you pick your own name, you put it back and draw again. There will be no informing or communicating with the person on your slip – it's _Secret_ Santa for a reason! Now-” he reached in and snatched a slip, then shoved it in his dress-shirt pocket before passing the jar to Banner. “Time to draw!”

Banner reached into the jar like he was reaching into a snake-pit, delicately plucked out a slip of paper, then retracted his hand and passed it on. The jar made a swift procession down their side of the table, and then it was at Clint; Clint grinned and shoved his hand down to the bottom to grab a slip hiding in a corner, then passed it to Natasha. Natasha grabbed the easiest to reach, then passed it to Bucky.

Bucky eyeballed the jar, then warily reached in and grabbed a slip against the side – he was making wild calculations about his Christmas shopping budget, upon which there was already _eight people_ – pulled out his hand, and then passed it on. Once the dreaded jar was gone, he warily opened up his slip.

James Rhodes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mouthed.

Natasha peeked over from her own slip of paper – Sharon Carter, Bucky saw (it was only fair game) – and wickedly grinned. “The Chief of Security?”

Bucky wrinkled his nose at her.

Natasha decided to goad him more. “Oh, and... weren't you crushing on him a couple months ago?”

Bucky pouted.

“Because – if I remember right – he locked himself out of his car and you thought it was cute?”

“Because it _was_ ,” he hissed, tucking the slip of paper into his front pocket. “But I think you're forgetting that his salary is, like, double what mine is.”

Clint tutted. “Just get him a box of donuts. Or socks – I _love_ socks.”

Bucky made a show of being mock-offended, leaning back with an indignant scoff. “Um, _excuse_ me, Mr. Scroodge, but I'm not gonna buy my Christmas presents at a goddamn _gas station_.”

Clint scoffed back and waved him off. “Suit yourself, you go on ahead and desecrate your wallet.”

Natasha hummed meditatively. “Maybe I should _make_ her something.”

“You do that,” Bucky and Clint said in unison, then turned their attention back towards the others.

–

The thing about Rhodes was that he was a very private man.

Sure, Bucky could sometimes catch him before or after work, and they crossed paths on a coffee run once or twice, but otherwise, he knew very little about the man. He knew that he was kind – on Bring Your Child to Work Day, he bought them all ice-cream sandwiches and distracted them by giving them a grand tour of the building's security system, effectively saving their parents from having to worry about them wandering off out of boredom or – worse – distracting them from their work. He even made sure they got their faces and hands all clean before they ran back to smush their faces into their parents' expensive pant-legs.

He also knew that he dealt directly with the company's CEO, Ms. Potts. _That_ was the most intimidating part.

Of course, it was really hard to find the man intimidating when Bucky came across him stalking around his SUV one late night after work, giving it a long-winded lecture about how disappointed in it he was that it wouldn't just _unlock_ itself for him, considering all they went through together, how dare it, did it know how embarrassed he would be if he had to call a lock-smith at ass o'clock to break into the Chief of Security's SUV.

Bucky came to the rescue after he kicked the tire. He then proceeded to show him a trick that only required a shoe-lace, and managed to unlock the driver-side door after about five minutes. Rhodes gave him a long, considering look as he re-laced his loafer, like he couldn't decide if Bucky was an ally or a threat. Then he beamed at him – a bright, radiating smile that reached his eyes – and extended his hand. “Thanks, man. Is there any way I could return the favor?”

Bucky shook his hand numbly before he blurted, “Coffee sometime?”

Rhodes's smile widened before he looked down at the ground. He looked back up a second later and prompted, “Would Thursday be okay for you?”

“Yeah, sure, uh-” then his brain caught up “-er, no, actually, sorry, I promised a friend I'd help him with a project.”

Rhodes pursed his lips and nodded, shifting to the opposite foot. “Okay, I respect a man who keeps his promises. What about another day?”

Bucky crossed his arms and sighed, racking his brain to bring up his schedule for the next two weeks. “Y'know, I can't actually tell you a date off the top of my head.”

“That's fine, that's fine – tell you what. What's your name?”

Bucky forgot his name for a full two seconds; then he saved it before Rhodes could get suspicious by drawling, “Barnes. James Barnes. But I go by Bucky.”

Rhodes huffed out a laugh, then gestured towards himself. “James Rhodes. Rhodey to friends. Men of a feather.” He shook his head, then said, “How about I give you my number, and you can call me when your schedule's clear? Maybe we can find a day that works for both.”

Bucky shrugged and huffed, “Sure.” Rhodes dug into his front pocket and pulled out a notepad, then pulled a pen from his jacket – he jotted down his number, tore off the page, then handed it to him.

“See you then!” Rhodes called, opening the door to his SUV; Bucky wished him good night and then quickly made his way to his own car.

Bucky never called him.

Now, here he was, two months later, and he had to buy the guy a fucking Christmas present. Did not calling someone to reschedule a coffee date count as standing someone up? Was it even a date? Did Rhodes rue ever giving him his number, or did he forget all about it? Fuck if Bucky knew.

He closed the door to the apartment he shared with Steve, hung up his coat, took off his shoes, then leaned against the wall with a dull 'thump' before letting out a long, low moan.

“Should I order pizza?” drifted Steve's voice from the living-room, with a light dusting of humor.

“'D 'ppreciate it,” Bucky called back, then made his way to his room to change out of his suit and into some sweats. When he reemerged, he slunk down the hall to the living-room where Steve was perched on the couch in his flannel pajamas, bony legs crossed, surrounded on all sides by paperwork, laptop open on the coffee-table while the Food Network played on the TV in the background. Bucky slumped horizontally into his arm-chair and sulked.

Steve glanced up from his papers and huffed a laugh through his nose, eyes crinkling. “Trouble at work?”

Bucky dramatically threw an arm over his eyes. “We're doing a Secret Santa.” He heard Steve hiss through his teeth in sympathy.

“Who'd ya get?”

Bucky lowered his arm. “You know that story I told you about how I helped the Chief of Security get into his car the other month?” Steve's mouth was forming an 'O'. “Guess who I got?”

Steve laughed softly, then looked back to his paperwork. “Well, then it can't be that bad, can it?”

Bucky never told Steve about getting Rhodes's number, which meant Steve didn't know that Bucky never called him. Bucky would rather chug an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce then give Steve ammunition to completely annihilate his smooth, flirty facade, so he says, “I just have no idea what to get him. It's not like we talk that much.”

And Steve, the bastard, gently prompts, “Well, maybe you should ask him out for coffee.”

Bucky choked on a bit of spit and sat up in his chair; Steve's eyebrows rose to his hairline. When Bucky was finally able to swallow, he rasped, “What makes you say that?”

Steve gave him an open, searching look, his face split half into concern and half into amusement. “Well, I was jus' thinkin' that you could make it seem friendly, ask him about some of his interests, and try and get some ideas from that?”

Bucky stared at the floor, his mouth curling upwards in grim resignation. “Yeah, all right.” Apparently the stars had all aligned.

The next day, when he was back at the apartment and Steve wasn't home yet, he took out his cell phone, scrolled down to the never-used contact listed as 'Rhodes,' and dialed. It rang four times before Rhodes picked it up with a crisp, “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, this is James Barnes – I broke into your car in October.” Fuck. “You locked yourself out?” he added, strained.

There was a beat, then: “Oh, hey! It's you!”

“Yeah, it's me.” Bucky let out an awkward chuckle. “So... how about that coffee?”

–

They ended up meeting up at a small coffee-shop downtown on a Saturday, a dim nook-in-the-wall known for cheap coffee and fresh cookies. They each ordered a mug and a cookie – which Rhodes paid for – then found a booth in the corner by the front window.

“So,” Rhodes began, looking across the booth to Bucky, who was studiously mixing his particular amounts of sugar and cream into his coffee with his spoon. “This must have been a busy couple of months for you.” Bucky looked up to gauge his expression, but there was nothing hostile or even passive-aggressive about it; his face, like his tone, was open and soft.

Determined not to give any hint about the Secret Santa exchange, he smiled. “Yeah, well, sometimes things can get away from me. You know how it is.”

Rhodes hummed into his mug, swallowed, then set it down. “Absolutely.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, then stretched. He took another sip of his coffee while Rhodes chewed his cookie; they both swallowed, then said at the same time, “So what do you-”

Rhodes held up a hand. “Sorry, you first.”

“No, you first, I insist,” Bucky countered.

Rhodes gave him a short, tight smile before asking, “So what do you like to do?”

Bucky blinked, then let out a long breath. He could work with give and take to get what he needed. “I'm assuming you mean in my free-time? Well, I'm kind of a book-worm. I love science-fiction. I have a whole collection back at home – all sorts of books about time travel, about aliens, dystopias, space travel. That's my favorite, by the way – space. Always had an interest in space. Wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger.” He shrugged when Rhodey quirked an eyebrow. “I mean, this job's also nice. Coding has its own challenges. Sure, M&C isn't NASA, but the health benefits are nice.”

Rhodes started laughing, took another sip of his coffee, then said, “That's nice, that's nice. Still, an astronaut? Wow.”

“What about you?” Bucky prompted. “What do you like?”

Rhodes leaned back. “Would you look at me funny if I said video games?” Bucky stared. “You're looking at me funny.”

A chuckle was startled out of him, and Bucky shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, I'm just. Having trouble separating the professional from the casual. Any particular genre?”

Rhodes hummed. “Well, the first-person shooters are always fun if you need to blow something up, but my heart lies with the puzzle-games. All the better if they have a good story to go along with it.”

Bucky took a large bite out of his cookie as he prepared himself to make his move. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then said, “I bet you get a lot of that kind of stuff during the holidays, eh?”

Rhodes frowned and picked up his coffee mug. “Yeah, except that's really not the kind of presents I enjoy.”

Bucky carefully rose an eyebrow. “Oh?” He took a bite of cookie. “Then what _do_ you enjoy?”

“Anybody can swing by any old place and pick up something in about two minutes – which is nice! Don't get me wrong – it's just, I can do that myself. It means a lot more to me if somebody gives me something that they put time and work into.”

Bucky showed nothing on his face except a brief twist of his mouth. “So, you like hand-made gifts?”

Rhodes looked down into his coffee-mug and smiled dryly. “Yeah. Call it a guilty pleasure.” He looked back up. “What about you? Your family get you anything nice?”

Bucky held back a heavy sigh. “Nobody in my family – and it's a, uh, pretty large family, mind – really has enough to get anything too extravagant? So usually we end up getting each other things like candles, little figurines, maybe a quilt. It's all really nice – I still have the quilt my great-grandmother made – but, uh... About a year ago I was really into astrology, yeah? And I see this high-powered telescope that's small enough that you could set it up on a balcony or a fire escape. Only, it costs almost three-hundred dollars, and I'd never ask that of anyone, and I'd _certainly_ never buy it myself.”

Rhodes had finished his cookie. “Yeah, I get where you're coming from. You still into astrology?”

Bucky waved his hand and picked up his coffee again. “I guess I would be, but it's just too expensive a hobby. I'm fine with sticking to documentaries on the Science Channel.”

Rhodes nodded contemplatively as they both finished their coffee. When they set their mugs down again, Rhodes smiled and went, “Well, this was a nice talk. Thanks for having me.”

Bucky tried to stamp down the flutter in his stomach. “The pleasure was mine.”

They both stood, but before Bucky could move for the door, Rhodes prompted, “We should do this again sometime.”

The word “Sure” was out of his mouth before he could stop it, but he couldn't actually muster any regret.

Rhodes tilted his head, grinned, then asked, “Maybe next time, I call you? Can I have your number?”

That mustered regret. He gave a dry chuckle, then said, “Yeah, let me just...” he looked around for a pen, then paused when Rhodes produced one from his jacket. “Do you always just carry around pens?” he mused, grabbing a napkin and jotting down his number.

“I am a busy man surrounded by busy people,” Rhodes intoned. “There is always need for pens.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, then handed him the napkin and his pen. “That's a good philosophy.” He moved to hold the door open, then left after Rhodes passed through; they wished each other well, and then went their separate ways.

–

“Natasha,” Bucky pleaded over the phone. “What's a hand-made gift I can make in a relatively short amount of time?”

He could almost see her crooked grin on the other end of the line. “Didn't you take up knitting three years ago?”

“Yeah, but I-”

“Try knitting a scarf.”

“A _scarf_? But I-”

“Just get a bunch of yarn and dig up your needles and bunker down for a few nights; it shouldn't take that long.”

“Easy for you to say. And may I ask what _you're_ making?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so.” He sighed. “Thanks, Nat. Take care.”

“You too, James.”

–

The 23rd came too quickly and too soon.

Bucky showed up to the office Christmas party in his ugliest Christmas sweater, red-eyed and groggy from a late night of feverished knitting – but he did it. He held the fruit of his labor preciously wrapped in his hands with a large name-tag that read _To: James Rhodes_ within a border of holly and reindeer. He slapped it on at two in the morning and then threw himself onto his bed and promptly checked out. If Steve hadn't shook him awake that morning, he would've never made it to work.

Everybody else, for their part, looked bright and cheery and rosy. Because the Christmas party was multi-floor, they cleared out the large convention room and instead filled it with bean bags and blankets and gingerbread cookies. Everyone's presents were piled in a monstrous mountain in the corner of the room; Bucky warily deposited his present, and then left to hunt down Natasha and Clint.

When the mingling finally came to a close, their manager hopped up onto a chair and called, “Okay, everybody! It's time for the Secret Santa gift-giving!”

It was the first time in six years that the majority of the room cheered.

In small groups, their co-workers stood to go retrieve their gifts and present it to their assigned giftees. There were stainless-steel cookware, the entire series of Harry Potter, coupons for free oil-changes, and many, _many_ gift-cards. Then it was Rhodes's turn; he got up and swung by the pile, picked up a rather large box that looked fairly heavy, then carried it over and-

Set it down right in front of Bucky.

“You're shitting me.” Rhodes just quirked his eyebrows, smiled, and moved off. Bucky stared after him, then began tearing at the wrapping paper like he was six.

His eyes must have grown comically large when he saw the _Orion_ logo. He tore the rest of the paper off in one swoop, then stared at the telescope for a solid minute – only breaking out of his daze by Clint's low whistle.

“Hey,” Clint whispered. “So, uh. Can I come over and-”

“No,” Bucky said immediately.

“Aw,” Clint whined.

Then suddenly it was their turn to get up and retrieve their presents – Bucky quickly grabbed his gift and made a beeline for Rhodes. When he reached him, he took in Rhodes's stunned look and answered it with a beaming smile, holding out the present. Rhodes cautiously took it, and Bucky went back over to guard his telescope. And spy.

Rhodes's reaction was priceless. He cautiously unwrapped the present, careful not to tear the paper, until he could see what was inside. Then he plucked the scarf out from the paper and hastily unfolded it – it was long and warm and soft and interspersed with thick gray and red stripes. It was also rough and far from perfect. Rhodes looked up and met his eyes from across the room, looking flabbergasted. “ _You made this?_ ” he mouthed. Bucky nodded. Rhodes gaped. Bucky simply numbly pointed to the telescope, and Rhodes broke into a chuckle-fit. The entire rest of the night, they kept stealing glances at each other, half in thanks and half in a new-found curiosity and respect.

When the party had finally wound down and everybody was moving to head home with their presents – Bucky noted that Sharon had gotten an intricately crafted wooden chair – Rhodes swung by and said, “So how does January 8th sound to you?”

Bucky tilted his head and shifted the telescope's weight onto his hip. “Coffee, or dinner?”

“Would dinner at Margeline's sound good?”

“Margeline's sounds more than good.”

Rhodes wrapped his scarf more snugly around his neck, then smiled. “It's a date. Now let me help you with that box.”


	16. Day 16 - Seven Minutes in Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two total years of deployment as the Winter Soldier and five years of recovery, and what of him?
> 
> They took his arm, bones, tendons, memories, morals. Could they even take his sexuality?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, officially past the halfway point of the Challenge. After fifteen prompts, I'd like to think that I'm slowly learning what works and what doesn't work. Hopefully my confidence can carry me through to Prompt 30 and beyond.
> 
> I handled this specific prompt a bit differently. More specifically, I wanted to explore/address something. Less specifically, I conformed to the prompt by the very bare-bones definition because my muse refused to write it any other way.

Today marked five years.

Five years since the “Washington Crisis” and five years of recovery. Five very, very, difficult years – and to think it wasn't even over. He asked Sam once, in a fit of pique after a blackout, if it was ever going to end. Sam gave him a tired, knowing look, and said, “The thing about trauma is that it changes you. There's recovery, and then there's trying to be the exact person you were before that trauma. That way of thinking doesn't do anyone any good. Recovery, though? Recovery is a return to physical and psychological functionality. That can take months, or years, or the rest of your life. And there's no shame in that. Recovery is for you and you only – you don't owe it to anyone else.”

To him, recovery felt like trying to wade through a river made of quicksand. Behind him was the jagged shore – was HYDRA – and on the opposite shore was 'normal.' The sand clung to his legs and tried to pull him down and forced him to flop and wriggle and squirm, and sometimes he fell and sank or fell and floated, and sometimes he'd get up and be turned around and not even realize he was heading in the wrong direction. The opposite shore always either seemed to be closer or farther away depending on the day.

Five years, and he was in the middle of the river, but that shore never seemed any closer.

Bucky blinked and realized that Steve was standing in front of him, wearing one of his hollow smiles that Bucky hated so much. Steve shifted to his other foot and said, “Hey.”

Bucky glanced around. He was on the 78th floor of Avengers Tower, sitting on the couch with an abandoned book in his hands. He was three pages past the last remembered paragraph. He cleared his throat, shut the book, and tossed it aside. “Hey.”

“We're having game night up in the penthouse and there's pizza on the way. You wanna join us?” Hands clasped behind his back, eyes wide and hopeful, wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater that was too small in the arms. The only thing spoiling the look being that hollow smile of his.

Bucky put on his best smile and rocked up onto his feet before Steve could offer a hand. “What kind of 'game night' is it this time?” He started walking towards the door, and when Steve caught up with him he knocked their shoulders together. Steve liked casual touching – craved it, while never admitting it. It got his expression to soften and his smile to become a little less hollow, a little more real.

“Absolutely no idea,” he confessed. They stepped into the elevator and Bucky pressed the button. _Ding_ , and they were hoisted upwards.

Tony had a 'game night' every Saturday that he invited all of the present Avengers to. These 'games' ranged from video games, to tabletop games, to sports games (both physically played and on TV), to party games. Bucky's favorite game night so far was undoubtedly when they played Dungeons & Dragons, with the most hated being the dreaded Truth or Dare Game of '17.

The elevator _ding_ ed and the doors opened, and it wasn't three minutes later that Tony opened his mouth and proudly declared “Who's up for Cards Against Humanity?” Everyone shuddered with either excitement or dread.

That was how, five minutes later, Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Bucky ended up sitting in a circle on the floor (Thor and Bruce were with their girlfriends for the holiday season – Dr. Foster and Dr. Ross, respectively – and Sam was with his very large and very loving family).

Fifteen minutes and several dozen “Oh, God” “Good Lord” “Jesus Christ” and “Fuck”s later, Tony was the Card Czar and the Black Card was “My sexuality is _____.”

Bucky grimaced. Out of everyone, he was the only one who didn't have any Awesome Points. Clint said it was because he “played too tame.” He narrowed his eyes at his hand, then warily laid down a card.

Tony gave the Awesome Point to _Bucky Bear._ Bucky slowly reached forward and slid the black card over to his end. Natasha fought back a grin.

“Aw, come on,” Clint whined. “And here I thought we were going to get a confession tonight.”

“Not today, Barton,” Bucky drawled.

“But I feel cheated.”

“Too bad.”

“Narcissist.”

“Bite me.”

“Okay but who _are_ you attracted to? I've known you for three years and I've never been able to figure it out without asking.”

Bucky looked to Tony to move the game along, but he looked just as curious as Clint. He looked at everyone else, and the only one who didn't look interested was Steve. He thought about it.

Sex. It wasn't a thing he ever thought about. Not in the past five years, not as the Winter Soldier, and what precious few memories he has before that time consists of small, bony, knuckle-split hands and giggling sisters with their hands in his hair and his mother's smell.

Sex. Why should he care? Why would he want it? He thought about it. He thought about the people in the circle. He thought about people in general. He found the thoughts repulsive. The silence dragged on.

Bucky finally looked up at them all. “Nobody.”

Everyone in the circle reacted with some form of easy acceptance – small nods, acknowledging shrugs, friendly hums, all of them. All except for Steve.

Steve looked at him, wary, and tilted his head. “Buck, that ain't true.”

Bucky looked at him sharply, searched his expression, and dreaded what he saw there: the open, soft, somewhat rueful expression Steve wore whenever he gently corrected a memory that Bucky got wrong somehow – whether it be merging several into one, or getting names and places wrong, or even creating entire memories that never happened. He had no other source of cross-checking, between the government's bleached propaganda and everyone besides Steve being dead.

Steve looked him in the eye and said, “You wouldn't shut up about Jean Harlow and Joan Crawford, and I know for a fact you...” He trailed off when he saw Bucky's stricken expression.

He was wrong, then. He found another part of himself that needed to be fixed.

He put all his cards on the floor and mumbled a quick “Excuse me” before he stood up and left for the elevator. Behind him, he felt the pinpricks of six sets of eyes trailing after him.

–

It hardly took any time at all before there was a knock on his door, which was expected; when he got off the elevator and onto his own floor, he simply leaned against the wall and counted the minutes.

He opened it, and looked down to see Natasha standing in the hall with a box of pizza, looking expectant. He sighed and moved out of the doorway, letting her whisk in to plop herself into his favorite armchair. He shut the door and sat on the couch, where she promptly shoved the pizza box into his lap after taking two slices for herself with a bland, “It's important not to skip meals.” Bucky morosely bit into a slice of pizza while she continued, “Steve says he's sorry. And I told him not to come.”

Bucky swallowed. “I know.”

They ate in silence for a while; then Natasha said, “You know I'm asexual.”

“Yes.” He gave her a dry look. “I also know you were always like that.” He stood and left to grab some paper towels; when he returned, they methodically licked their fingers and wiped off their hands.

Eventually, easy as could be, Natasha looked over at him and prompted, “Do you think HYDRA-”  
  


She left it hanging there, unfinished and awkward in the silence, a heavy question that she wouldn't finish. Bucky also knew that this was why she asked Steve to stay behind. This wasn't a conversation for anyone but them, and if there was anyone in the world who would understand...

Bucky sat and stared out the window, idly stroking his flesh hand across the metal plates of his arm. He wasn't seeing the idle snowflakes falling past the ceiling-to-floor windows.

After a very long time, he softly answered, “I don't know.”

–

Steve showed up in the middle of the night, looking distraught. Bucky told him to shut up before he said anything and offered him the couch cushions.

–

Every Avenger had their own “secret place” in the Tower. For Tony, it was his workshop – not so secret. Sam liked the rooftop garden. Clint took to the ventilation shafts and eventually ended up roosting somewhere in the building's infrastructure, and Natasha favored a nook in the elevator shaft. For Bucky, it was the walk-in closet of room 5B on floor 42.

Room 5B was located in the middle of the floor with no windows and three exits, dark and completely barren of furniture or decoration – save for the walk-in closet. The closet itself was approximately the size of his own apartment in 1937, only filled with old coats and several dozen different pairs of rain boots. One entire wall was aligned with the reinforced concrete and flexi-steel of the building's emergency stairwell. The other four walls were, for some reason, bullet-proof.

Bucky had cased everything during his first few rocky months at the Tower, and room 5B had two cameras and three speakers for JARVIS. The closet only had one, very small speaker, with no cameras. JARVIS never spoke to him or asked what he was doing, and if Bucky spoke first, his voice would come softly through the one speaker with only a “ _Yes, sir, what might I do for you?_ ”

Bucky rather liked JARVIS.

That day, however, was a bad day. He was filled with an ugly mix of anger, fear, denial, doubt, and frustration. He shut the closet door behind him, went to his corner, sat, and picked them apart one by one.

He hated the idea that HYDRA could take things from him so completely. At the time, as the Winter Soldier, it didn't matter. Weapons didn't worry about their own identity, and their owners were in the right to strip and modify as they pleased. HYDRA's thoughts always overrode his own, emotions were flaws that were fixed with the chair. It didn't matter that they stripped him and cut him open and took things and installed things, because it wasn't his body, it was theirs. The only thing that mattered was pleasing them.

Two total years of deployment as the Winter Soldier and five years of recovery, and what of him?

They took his arm, bones, tendons, memories, morals. Could they even take his sexuality?

Even after all this time, he couldn't get the old ones back, save for his precious few memories. He took ownership of his body – his arm was _his_ , not HYDRA's; his modifications were _his_ , not HYDRA's – he made new memories, he rebuilt his morals from scratch. He knew they took his old identity, yet somehow there was some part of him that thought orientation was some kind of solid, unshakeable Truth, the strongest of biological science, unable to be changed.

Maybe that was still the case. Maybe he wasn't asexual after all, just traumatized. Maybe if he could just dislodge the block, work open the trigger or however Sam would say it, he could get it back. Judging from Steve, “it” was bi, maybe pan.

JARVIS interrupted his reflection by saying, “ _Mr. Barnes, Colonel Rhodes is looking for you._ ”

Bucky slowly blinked back into his present surroundings. “Where is he?”

“ _He is currently in the hall of your floor and has asked me for your location. Shall I tell him?_ ”

Bucky really didn't feel like leaving his closet. “Go ahead.” Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“ _Of course, sir._ ”

Again – Bucky rather liked JARVIS.

–

Several minutes later there was a knock on the door. “It's unlocked.”

The knob turned and Rhodey poked his head in, blinking in the dimness. “May I come in?”

Bucky gestured to a pile of coats. “Sure, pull up a coat, make yourself at home.”

Rhodey shut the door behind him, grabbed a red coat, dropped it a few feet away and then gingerly eased himself down onto the floor. “Nice place you got here,” he grunted, with a good-natured smile.

“I enjoy the view.”

“Man, what is this closet even _for_? Emergency rain gear?”

Bucky snorted. “You're asking me? _You're_ the best friend of the architect.”

“Touche.” They sat in companionable silence for a few beats before Rhodey said, “I'm sure you know I'm not here to hang out with coats.”

Bucky leaned back against the wall and looked at him. “You're right.”

Rhodey caught his eye and continued, “Y'know, being outed in front of people, no matter what it's about – that's rough. And I thought, hey, maybe you'd like to talk about it with someone who didn't know you... before.” He paused, looked away, and licked his lips. “And... I also thought that maybe I might be able to add some perspective based on my own experience.”

After a long pause, Bucky nodded. Then he let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I stepped on a landmine. I thought I had myself figured out, but...”

Rhodey looked expectant. “But?”

Bucky dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. Then, “I'm tired of finding new obstacles. I'm tired of knowing HYDRA put them there.”

Rhodey glanced downwards, then crossed his legs and shifted to get more comfortable. “Are you sure it's because of HYDRA, though? I mean – you looked pretty certain when you talked about it back there.”

Bucky's gaze fell to his knee. “I don't... find people attractive. Like that. I can – you know, if they look nice, but. There's no desire there, I don't feel anything.”

“Mind if I get personal?”

“Are we not already at personal?”

Rhodey took exactly one second to look apologetic before he said, “What about fear? Is there something about sexual intimacy that... sets something off?”

Bucky seriously thought about it. Him, naked, with another naked person. Doing _things_. “I wouldn't call it fear, exactly.”

“Then what would you call it?”

A beat. “Repulsion? Disgust? Natasha doesn't feel that way about it, though.”

“Well, who said there's a certain way to feel things? Maybe – look. Maybe everything that you went through... interfered in some way. Maybe it didn't. Maybe your sexuality's the same, or maybe it's not. Maybe it changed on its own.”

Bucky gave him a _look_. “I thought people were kind of adamant nowadays that sexuality _can't_ change.”

Rhodey's mouth twisted. “Well, yeah, they _say_ that – and don't get me wrong, there's no such thing as 'corrective therapy.' But- hmm.” He cleared his throat and shifted again. “Okay. When I was a kid, I hit puberty, and it wasn't a year or two later that I realized I was attracted to men. So I thought, 'Oh, great, I'm gay.' It was pretty clear – I felt nothing for girls, I had all kinds of feelings for guys. I struggled with it for a long while. I told my parents, and we fought at first, but then they tried. And it was okay.” He leaned back and let out a slow breath. “Then I went to college, and it... _shifted_.”

Bucky arched a brow.

“I started feeling attraction to girls – but I was still interested in guys. Eventually that attraction grew until both sides were equal. At that point, I didn't know what to do with myself – everybody was thinking in binaries. Every time I said something, people said I was confused. My parents thought I was afraid to be who I was, and they got a bit smothery. Crueler people said it was proof that my attraction to men was a 'phase' and that I was actually straight. Eventually I learned about the word bisexual, but the people who I learned it from told me that I was bisexual all along. But that wasn't true. I _know_ what I felt in high school.” Rhodey shrugged and looked down. “Fast forward a couple decades, I've been to war. I've lost people. Tony's having his own troubles. Next thing I know, it's shifted again.” Rhodey looked back up, and thought for a long moment. “If I had to say what my sexuality is right now, I'd say it'd be... demisexual, probably.”

Bucky slowly blinked. “...Huh.”

Rhodey mustered a smile. “It's not just me, either. I met one or two people with similar stories. My point is – maybe sexuality is less solid, and more fluid.”

“So...” Bucky's gaze drifted back to his knee, then back to Rhodey. “Maybe I'm experiencing a block. Or – maybe it... actually did change.”

Rhodey's eyes looked very sincere, even in the dim light. “You know, even if it did change _because of_ what you went through, that wouldn't make it any less valid. It is what it is and it's yours, and that's all that should matter.”

Bucky chewed it over for a little while, then smiled. He gently punched Rhodey's knee. “You know, this conversation actually made me feel a lot better?”

Rhodey huffed a laugh. “I hoped it would.” He moved to get up, but Bucky was on his feet and offering a hand before he could even get to his knees. Rhodey shot him a mock-glare and accepted the help up. “Hey, you wanna get outta here and go for ice cream at Betsy's? My treat.”

“Ice cream? In December?”

“You got something against ice cream in December?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and stepped out of the closet when Rhodey held the door open for him. “Betsy's. Is that that cute place with the pastel colors and the animated reindeer?”

“You bet.” They left for the hallway.

“All right then, I'll go and grab my coat-”

“You do realize we just came out of a closet filled with like a hundred coats?”

Bucky looked offended. “A hundred _ugly_ coats.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Rhodey's chest, and Bucky pressed the call button for the elevator with a small smile.


	17. Day 17 - Noble/Peasant AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two lionhearts follow their kings and meet each other along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: I'm going to stop responding to comments where the only thing I can think of as a reply is "Thank you! ♥" I always get so exhilarated with each and every one, and it's a great encouragement to know people's thoughts about my writing - so I'm going to try and avoid a uniform response. Just know that I do, truly, genuinely appreciate each and every one.

“. . . and heiress to the House of Jenning; Sir James Rhodes, Knight of the Royal Circle and Colonel of the King's Forces, fourth-in-line to the Golden Coast-”

Rhodey smiled tersely to the crier, tipped his head obligingly to the half-listening crowd, and then began his descent down the steps to the throng of guests in silk gowns, satin suits, and useless dress armors (he hated his own; an asymmetrical atrocity with too-big shoulder plates, structural-integrity-weakening insignias, and decorative furs), and glittering masks, swirling around the ballroom floor below.

The King's Palace was located on the top of a hill at the center of the capital city of Dracon, the most heavily fortified city in all the nine kingdoms. The Palace itself was a glittering jewel looming above the districts below, made of white stone and gold; the interior was covered in white marble, with velvet curtains and monstrous stained-class windows, full of all sorts of extravagant paintings and statues and behemoth chandeliers.

A figure clad in a billowing coat of scarlet and gold with a mask so extravagant it resembled licking flames began to sweep his way towards him, and Rhodey braced himself.

“ _Rhodey!_ God, it's about time you showed up; everybody here says the exact same shit, 'Ooh, did you hear about Lady-Whosit and her new Whatsit?' or 'Lord So-and-So killed Such-and-Such' and-”

Rhodey held up a hand and forced out a “ _Tony_.” Tony shut up. “I'm sorry, my friend, but I was specifically instructed to dine with the military officers this evening by-”

Tony waved his silk-gloved hand and made a wheezy dismissive sound. “Give me, like, six seconds-” and then he spun on his heel and marched straight towards the officers' table. Rhodey immediately moved to go after him, but his dress armor made him a fifth as agile, and couple after couple blissfully waltzed into his path.

By the time he got to the other end of the room, Tony was strolling back towards him, beaming, while the officer table heartily laughed in the background. Of course. The House Stark was credited with every major war innovation in the past century, from siege machines to hand-held weaponry, and many claimed that if not for House Stark then the kingdom of Avanore would have fallen to its enemies decades ago. This meant that many among the military hierarchy rolled over for Tony Stark like attention-starved hounds.

The King and his Court were a different story. If not for Rhodey insisting he act as a middle-man, he suspected that the Royal Court would have beheaded Tony ages ago.

Nevertheless, Rhodey fondly rolled his eyes and accepted the offered arm to a non-occupied table. As they sat, Tony caught the arm of a servant and ordered two glasses of wine before turning back with a warm grin. “So how has the army been treating you, my darling dear?”

Rhodey laughed without humor and stole a sweet-roll from the neighboring table; after a pause, he plucked another from the tray and set it in front of Tony. “Now that there is no longer threat of invasion I fear that they've fallen into petty politics and power grabs. They're more interested in earning the King's favor than the people's.”

Tony hummed his agreement as the servant from before set their wine glasses on the table. After the servant moved on to the next party, he took a long draught of wine. The sweet-roll was still untouched. He swallowed, then said, “Well, it _is_ peacetime. The people don't need protecting anymore; what use have they for the army?”

Rhodey swallowed his mouthful of sweet-roll. “Yes. It's _peacetime_. We're not at war, so why are people starving, dying, and going missing?”

Tony blinked. Then blinked again.

Rhodey sighed and slowly leaned back in his chair. “When was the last time you left the First District? In fact, when was the last time you left the city walls?”

Tony looked dreadfully confused for several seconds before he mused, “Four... three years ago?”

Rhodey shook his head, incredulous, then rapped his gauntlet's knuckles once on the table. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, you and I are going for a walk. Outside the walls.” The poorest of the city of Dracon lived outside the protection of the walls, often living off of small gardens and one or two sheep. Most of the population was made up of refugees who fled the civil wars of neighboring countries a decade ago.

Tony scrunched his nose. “Hang on, what do you expect _me_ to do about anything? If you're that concerned about the state of the kingdom, why don't you petition the King?”

Rhodey gave him a hard look. King Rowan IV came to power at the age of seventeen after his father was felled in the Battle of the River Sol. He let eleven villages burn to secure the independence of the kingdom, and once the throne was securely in his control, he ruled coolly and from afar, showing no warmth or mercy even to his own people, earning him the nickname “Rowan the Cruel.”

Tony quailed and shook his head. The sweet songs of the orchestra were still crooning through the ballroom, and a cluster of nobles laughed heartily. The clinking of glasses and silverware and dancing shoes seemed to dampen any thought of hardship. The diamond chandelier sparkled. “Okay, I believe you. In that case, what can we do-”

A door was thrown open so violently it bounced off the wall with a sharp _crack_. The room stilled and turned. A figure rushed through the ballroom and headed straight for the King – after Rhodey stood, he saw that the figure was the King's adviser, looking wide-eyed and pale. The man bent down to the King's ear and whispered something, strained. The King's face morphed from bewildered confusion to abject horror to debilitating grief; two members of his Council stood, pulled him bodily from the throne, and rushed him out of the room.

–

Tony, when not at a Royal ball, dressed so that no one at first glance would be able to tell him apart from a blacksmith in the lower districts; Rhodey wore a modest suit of armor only slightly more elaborate than the City Guards'. This was how they dressed the morning of their excursion outside of the city gates and into the throng of straw-roofed huts and mud-yards.

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek as they walked past gaunt-faced families in threadbare clothes. Children watched them pass with wide, suspicious eyes. A dog barked somewhere, sheep bayed, and an old woman coughed.

“Is this the worst of it?” Tony murmured.

Rhodey took a deep breath and shrugged. “Things might be even worse for the fringe villages; I haven't been out of late.”

“What's the issue, then? Is it employment? Space? We all know that Dracon is overpopulated as it is.”

“I'm sure a large part of it is the King's embargo on all trade with foreign nations. Other parts would be that there are cities in the kingdom that have the room yet are ruled by uncaring banns, and we can _make_ the employment. The thing is, doing anything would take the agreement of the nobility and willing arls to even begin us down the path of progress.”

“Maybe _you_ should be King, honey-bear.”

Rhodey stopped walking to bark out a laugh. “If you would've said that _anywhere_ else, we would've both been branded as traitors and beheaded.”

As it was, a gaggle of children flooded around Rhodey's legs with twinkling eyes and open hands, shouting, “Sir Rhodes! Sir Rhodes!” Rhodey reached for his coin purse and dropped a sovereign into each hand, which was met with a gleeful shriek. Tony watched the exchange, morbidly fascinated, when he was knocked into by a very short and thin blond man. “Sorry!” the man cried, flashed an apologetic grin, then ambled off. The children scurried off as soon as there were no more empty hands.

Tony absently began patting himself down while he asked, “I take it you have a reputation as a charitable man?”

Rhodey grimaced. “You have to start somewhere.”

Tony began patting more frantically, before he finally stopped with an affronted, “Son of a-”

At that moment, the loud neigh of a horse and the sloshing sound of galloping hooves in mud caught everyone's attention. People lunged out of the way as the rider barreled into the settlement square, wheeled around, pulled out a flyer, and cried, “Hear ye! Hear ye!” The horse tossed its head. “It has been discovered that the King's son, Prince Lukas I, along with his entire company of thirty-three men and women, which was sent out from the fine city of Dracon three months ago – is dead!”

Shocked gasps and a few cries of despair made their rounds among the people. Tony mouthed, _Fuck_. Prince Lukas was a kind and generous man, nothing like his father, and was the only person in the world who could get King Rowan to soften. Many believed that the day he became King, Avenore would experience a renaissance. All of that hope was gone.

“The killer-!” the herald paused. “The killer is a mighty fire drake, spotted in the mountains of the West!" The people erupted into terrified twitters. The herald raised his voice. “By the King's Royal Decree, whosoever ventures forth and retrieves the dragon's heart-” a great hush fell over the crowd “-shall be granted the Arlship of the Sylvan Plains – no matter of previous origin or education!”

A roar erupted across the settlement as people bellowed the names of the strongest member of their household, calling for mothers and brothers. The herald almost had to scream to be heard: “The Arlship shall be granted to one person and one person only; the hunt shall begin on the morrow when the sun is at its highest!”

Rhodey startled when Tony wrapped his hand around his wrist and pulled him back towards the city gates. Together, they left the roaring crowd and made their way back to the first district.

–

Rhodey was struggling with the urge to hurl his helmet into the Stark Estate's wall. “What kind of _damned fool_ does he think he is-”

“Nonono, don't you _see_?” Tony prompted, whirling on him. He had the twinkle in his eye that made Rhodey's stomach fill with ice. “This is an _opportunity_ , Rhodey, an _opening_ , we can _help people_ -”

“This isn't _helping people_ , Tony, this is sending a throng of civilians into the maw of a dragon – it's going to be a slaughter – this is a job for the military-”

“And what about the Arlship, _hmm_?” Tony countered. His eyes were wide, and his hair was a wild straggle from all the times he kept running his hands through it. “Old Man Crumbum was a scumbag who didn't allow any civilians into his lands, which are the richest in resources in the entire kingdom! He had no family and no lovers and died with no heirs! Listen-” he leaned in close, pleading, “neither of us have any lands of our own. We have _estates_ , and three people would have to die for you to get the Golden Coast.” Rhodey's mouth narrowed to a thin line. “If I become the Arl of the Sylvan Plains, I get leverage against the King. Right now, I'm entirely dependent on the Crown for resources – if I had my own lands, I'd be independent. He'd have nothing to hold over me, he'd be forced to negotiate for my services-”

“ _Or_ he could just chop off your fool head and use what you've already invented!”

Tony sat up, affronted. “I'm the last of my family's line. He wouldn't wipe out the Starks. My family's been saving Avanorian lives since before Rowan I. If he wiped us out, the people would revolt.”

“Tony, the Starks have done things for the _military_ , not the people. How do you know that they would?”

“They love me.”

“Tony-”

“We did things for the military and the military did things for the people, _yeah?_ Rhodey. Come _on_.”

Rhodey pushed himself away from the table and began pacing. His vision kept blurring. “And how do you expect to kill a dragon, Tony? You have no weapons training- you have no survival training-”

“I'll figure something out.”

“ _Tony!_ ” Rhodey barked, strangled.

Tony blinked, then blinked again. He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor, before he quietly said, “I care, you know?”

Rhodey shook his head. “What?”

“About people. I give a damn. I want to help. This is the best way I see.” He looked up at Rhodey's face, bit his lip, then declared, “I'm going tomorrow.”

Rhodey suddenly became bone-achingly tired. He sagged against the table and sighed, scuffing his boot on the floor. After a moment, when Tony was about to speak to break the silence, he said, “I'm going with you.”

“Huh?”

Rhodey looked up to meet his eyes. “ _I'm going with you._ ”

Tony looked stunned. “You don't have-”

“I know,” Rhodey interrupted. He clapped a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder, squeezed, then left.

–

The taverns and armories would be open all night, full of people drinking what might be their last mugs and arming themselves for their impromptu journey. This was fine by Rhodey.

He walked into a merchant's barter store in the lower district with a bag full of sound weapons he found lying around his estate, either perched on the walls or lounging in closets. There were a lot of desperate people in Dracon that night, and he knew of many merchants who would take advantage of that fact – selling the poor overpriced weapons that were brittle or broken.

The woman who owned _Homeland_ , a no-nonsense yet kind lady by the name of Maria Hill with a solid military record, was not one of them.

Homeland was already filled to bursting with people from both the lower districts and the settlement outside the walls. Weapons had been picked clean from the walls and racks, and Maria was in the process of calling, “I'm all out!” when Rhodey walked in and held up his bag.

“I've come to make a donation!” he called over the din, then set the bag on the table. A dozen hands lunged for it, but Maria made a single terse noise of disapproval. Everyone backed off with low, apologetic heads.

Maria unpacked the bag, sword-by-shield-by-bow. A wary-looking man with pale skin and carefully combed brunette hair peeked into the bag. His eyes widened.

Maria pulled out a polished longbow of sylvanwood, carved and crafted to perfection. It didn't gleam in the candlelight, but the brunette man's eyes did.

He cleared his throat, then asked, “How much for the bow?”

Maria nibbled her bottom lip as she appraised it; everyone else was already snatching the other bows and swords. “This is... you know I'm doing half-price tonight, but this is a rare model. Antique. Powerful. Half of its original price would be fourteen sovereigns.”

The brunette stared at her blankly. “Ma'am, I haven't seen fourteen sovereigns in my life.”

A large red-headed bear of a man came forward and gruffly declared, “I can get you fourteen sovereigns by tomorrow morning, _I swear_.”

The brunette's eyes widened minutely. “Ma'am, I'll work it off, I'll do whatever you want-”

“But I already have the money!”

“Whatever you want, _please_ -”

“I'll give you _fifteen_ sovereigns for that bow!” the bear-man bellowed. The brunette man looked like he was ready to start swinging with a deficit of five inches and sixty pounds.

The look on Maria's face was as if she was going to decide who lived and who died – which, in a way, she was – so Rhodey took a third route.

He dropped his coin-purse on the counter. “That's twenty sovereigns. I'll take it.”

Maria blinked at him as the brunette man gaped in anger and the bear-man bared his teeth. “But, Sir Rhodes... you donated it-”

“I know.” He gave the three of them his warmest battlefield smile.

Maria handed him the bow. He nodded to the room and walked outside, then began making his way down the cobbled street.

Sure enough, he heard the door open and close shortly thereafter. He turned into an alley, and stopped in the middle. When he heard footsteps, he turned around and waited. They stopped. No one came around the corner.

After a long moment, he called, “You can come out, you know. I planned for this.”

“Figured,” came from _above_ him and to his right.

Rhodey whirled around, his free hand grasping the hilt of his sword on instinct. The brunette man stood on the roof of the building above him, looking down with outright distrust.

“Were you-” Rhodey started. “Were you going to-”

“Stab you? Assassinate you? I'm not a fool.”

“Then what _were_ you going to do?”

The man shrugged. “Mug you, I guess.”

Despite himself, Rhodey laughed. “Well, at least you're honest.”

The man shifted from one foot to the other on the roof and flexed his hands. “With all due respect, Sir Rhodes, what are you playing at?”

Rhodey kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You plan on participating in the dragon hunt, yes? I was going to give whoever came after me this bow. This is an act of kindness.”

“Is it, though?”

The man on the roof was very tense. Rhodey decided to gamble, and slowly lowered his hand back to his side. “Explain.”

“Why arm a bunch of people you know nothing about? Why give away the bow? Especially if you're participating in the hunt.” A pause. “Are you?”

“Yes, although probably not for the reason you'd expect.”

The man snorted. “And what would I expect, Sir?”

“Power. Prestige. Fame.”

The man was quiet for a long moment. “All right.”

Rhodey leaned back against the alley wall. “As a Colonel and a Knight I still consider the citizenry under my care. We may all be competing against one another, and I might be making it easier for bloodshed out in the field – I'm not so naïve to believe there won't be – but I also know that there are more dangers out there than just our fellows. Wolves. Bears. Bandits. I want as many people to come home alive as possible.” He held out the bow.

The man on the roof was very still. Then, slowly, he began to inch towards the edge of the roof; he leaped down and landed with bended knees, then straightened and faced him.

He looked less wary in the dark. More alert, if still haggard. His eyes mirrored the blue hue of the moonlight, and his face was painted with both laughter and worry lines. His leather boots were old and worn, and his wool overshirt and trousers looked like they were washed one too many times. He was developing lines on his brow, too – probably due to all the frowning he was doing.

Carefully, the man took the bow from his hands. When he held it for five seconds and Rhodey still hadn't slit his throat, he looked down at it and ran his hands across it. He smiled slightly, then angled himself away to try out the string. He seemed very impressed – so was Rhodey. The poundage on the string must have been over ninety pounds, yet the man seemed to have little trouble and steady hands, even though he must have had a poor diet.

“Do you have arrows?” Rhodey prompted, lest he say something embarrassing for them both.

The man grimaced. “Nine.”

“Armor?”

“I'll be fine.”

“I can set you up with arrows, at least.”

The man looked up with the same hunted look as before. “Why.” Not a question.

Rhodey shifted his weight and rolled his shoulders to let his armor resettle, then crossed his arms. “Are _you_ in this hunt for the power?”

The man's face remained carefully blank, although everything Rhodey needed to know flickered in his eyes – regret, worry, love. Then the man gave a slow, sad smile. Rhodey matched it.

“Will you accept my offer of arrows?” Rhodey prompted quietly. He felt as if the two of them had come to a mutual understanding.

“Yeah,” the man sighed. They began walking, then: “Sir Rhodes.”

“Yes?”

“After all you're doing for me I feel as if you should know my name.”

“I don't have to.”

The man stopped. Rhodey turned to look at him. He had the look of men standing on the gallows who had found their peace. “My name's Bucky Barnes.” His voice broke slightly on his last name. “Can you remember that, Sir Rhodes?”

Rhodey looked him over warily. “There are other people than I who already know your name, Barnes.” He caught his eye. “Remember that.”

Barnes looked at him for a moment, then set his shoulders and nodded. They walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This one gave me a lot of trouble - not because I struggled with ideas, but because I had _too much_. I had to force myself to stop world-building and showing backstories, and like a previous fic, I had to stop writing at the first available stopping point lest it get out of hand. I had an entire elaborate plot planned out with, like, eight plot-twists and a slow-burn romance.
> 
> In the end, I had to take the trusty hatchet to it and stop it here. If I wrote any further, it would have ended on any number of horrible cliff-hangers, so I chose this spot. Not to mention that there's still thirteen prompts to go.
> 
> Anyway: sorry it's not the five-digit word-count it had the potential to be. I mostly wanted to write this to explore dynamics and potential, and I hope you still enjoyed it!


	18. Day 18 - Orphan AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky blinked back the sting in his eyes as he ground out, “I'm just trying to _survive_.”
> 
> The man's face hardened. “We all are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an apocalypse fic technically counts as an orphan fic right

The two-lane highway was silent. Gray. Cold. The dead trees standing in their graves kept their false vigil for miles. Ash swirled across the cracked asphalt before blowing across the mulch-covered ground that hadn't seen sunlight in over three years.

Bucky never walked the roads; that was one of his highest rules, _the_ highest being “never enter a city.” Roads were open; they had wide, far sight-lines, and they were vulnerable. No, only the weak and the exceptionally well-equipped traveled on the roads, and Bucky wasn't one of them.

He was a scavenger. He had only the clothes on his back, a ratty backpack, and an ice-axe to his name, all of which he looted from a Bass Pro. His hair was unkempt and uncut, half an inch past his shoulders, graying at the temples and in his beard.

If he had it his way, he'd have a rifle slung over his shoulder – but there's only so much he can expect of himself with one arm. Losing his left was-

Using his right arm was a simple enough task in itself. He could still take care of himself. He could still fight. He once killed three men with his ice-axe, lured them in by wilting and blubbering and playing the helpless one-armed victim, let them think he couldn't defend himself, then defended himself. Got one in the throat, one in the eye, one in the temple. The axe had a serrated pick, a blunt adze, and a sharp spike at the bottom of the shaft. Nasty little thing. He loved it. Stole all three of their shit, too. His backpack clanked with the rattle of canned food for a while after that.

He didn't always kill people. He tried to avoid it most of the time. Really, he was more inclined to travel the wooded areas, seeking out caravans or families or the odd straggler. In the dead of night, he'd sneak in with silent feet, gnab as much of their food as he could carry, and get the hell out of dodge. He tried not to take their weapons, especially the families'. There were bad people in the world. Bad people made the world what it was. There were bad people before.

The person he was tracking was traveling on the road, alone. A black man with a wheelbarrow full of supplies. Exceptionally well-equipped.

The wheelbarrow was red and rusted, with wooden handles and a worn wheel that made quiet grumbling noises of complaint as it turned. There was a musty quilt over the supplies, but Bucky had been following the man for two days undetected, and he got to see what was inside – stacks upon stacks of canned goods and three gallons of water, two carefully folded blankets, a gas burner, two pairs of shoes, an unopened package of socks, three pistols, and six boxes of ammo.

As for the man himself, he was balding, with patchy scruff on his aging face. He wore mud-caked work-boots, frayed jeans, two gray undershirts, one plaid overshirt, a stiff camouflage coat, and a beanie hat. He also had two army knives and a Smith & Wesson 916 shotgun slung over his shoulder. His coat was blood-stained.

Bucky had been the man's shadow for two days now, ever since his food stores got down to two cans. He ate one a day. He drank the last of his water the day before. He had nothing, now, and it would take its toll on his body soon enough. He had to act; he'd been too cautious. The sun would set in a couple hours. He'd wait till the man went to sleep. The man didn't light a fire last night, which meant he knew he was not alone. He slept with his shotgun.

The sun set and the colors grew darker and darker until the whole world was encased in cold, still ink, like a tomb. Bucky tightened the straps of his backpack and crouched down in the ash and mulch. Looting always made noise. The man slept exactly two feet away from his wheelbarrow. The darkness would give him cover but all creatures on the planet saw fairly in the dark, now. He had close calls before but this man was military. He knew military. He _was_ military.

Hours passed and the man was very still by his wheel-barrow, hand curled around his gun. The wind jostled the trees and made their branches hiss and their trunks creak. Bucky moved forward, stepping lightly in the ash, the sighs of his footfalls drowned under the trees.

When he reached the wheel-barrow and the man, he put the wheel-barrow between himself and the gun. Then he rested on one knee and slid his backpack soundlessly off his shoulders and onto the ground. He flipped open the flap, then carefully ghosted his hand over the quilt. He curled his fingers around a corner, gently eased it aside. The wind died down and fell silent. He froze. The wind picked up again and the trees gave an impatient hiss, and he resumed his work.

He snatched the cans, one-by-one, plucking them off the tops of their stacks and then tucking them into his own pack. He wondered about the gallon-jugs. He kept wondering until only ten cans remained in the wheel-barrow. He took one of the blankets, too, and placed it over his horde of cans. He eyed the dark shadows of the pistols and then took one and tucked it into his belt, then grabbed two boxes of ammo and slipped them into a side-pocket of his pack. He was good. His pack was full. But – the water.

He closed the flap of his backpack and eased it over his right shoulder, shrugged it onto his left. He waited, listened. The trees were still hissing. He reached out and grabbed the handle of one of the jugs and then stood to leave. The jug made a single, gentle _glug_ of protest.

He heard the click of the safety and sucked in his cheeks to hold back a curse.

“Make one fucking move and I _will_ shoot.”

“Hey, buddy-”

“Shut up.” He heard the man clamber to his feet, could feel the barrel aimed at his back like a cold phantom laser. “Put your hands on your head.”

Bucky smirked and grimaced in kind, let the offending jug fall to the ground, then put his hand on top of his head. “ _I said_ -” the man snapped, taking a step closer, then stopped and instead said, “Just – don't move.” He pressed the barrel of the shotgun into the small of his back and then retrieved his pistol and took his ice-axe, threw the axe far away into the woods.

Bucky was debating with himself which way he should go to keep his life, whether he should be weak or strong. “Get down on your knees,” ordered the man. Bucky decided to play weak, and went down onto his knees like a wilting flower, let his breath hitch like he was holding back tears. The man looked at him for a second, then said, “Take your pack off. Hand where I can see it.”

Bucky did as he was told with a truly pitiful, “Just don't hurt me.”

The man snatched his pack and threw it back towards the woods, and Bucky could have used the moment where the man had only one hand for his shotgun to spin around, grab the barrel, shove it away, headbutt the guy and, after a while, kill him. He didn't. The man hefted his shotgun with both hands again and took one step back, two.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded.

“That I-I was hungry,” Bucky wavered. “I ran out of water and the nights are getting colder. I got nothing, you can-”

“Nothing? You had _my stuff_. You were getting hungry? You would've left _me_ hungry. You'd let me die so _you_ could live?”

“N-no, it's not like that-”

“You're a goddamn coward. People like you? Stealing off of people? _Parasites_.”

Bucky ducked his head and whimpered, “What do you need me to do?”

The man could've pulled the trigger and splattered Bucky's brains across the ground, stained the ash crimson. He didn't. Instead, he eased himself down onto the ground and rested the shotgun on his lap. “Sit there. Stay quiet.”

Bucky did. They both did. They sat there, Bucky on his knees, the man criss-cross, as the night dragged on. The trees continued their hissing. The cold nipped at their fingers and their ears and their noses. Bucky had no idea what the man was doing or what he was playing at. A part of him was working itself into a frenzy, working out all the ways he could kill the man, escape, survive; part of him wanted the man to press the barrel to his skull and pull the trigger; and part of him wanted to sleep.

None of those things happened. They stayed there, stewing in their thoughts, until the dark ink of the night brightened to a muted gray. The ash-choked sky became visible again. They could see the outlines of the dead leaves on the ground.

“Get up.” They both staggered to their feet. “Walk over to your pack and put everything back in the 'barrow.”

Bucky warily looked over his shoulder, eyeing the man and the look on his face. The man was deliberately trying not to show emotion. Was that emotion fear? Anger? Guilt? Bucky did as he was told, feeling his eyes burn. First the blanket, then the cans, then the ammo, then his pack was empty and flimsy. The man ticked his head toward the jug, and Bucky replaced that, too.

“Now go get your axe.”

Bucky shrugged on his pack and slowly walked over to his axe where it lay gleaming dully in the ash. He knelt down, picked it up, and felt the barrel of the shotgun press into the small of his back. “Now walk to the road and head east. We're going for a walk.”

“But that's where I _came from_ ,” Bucky protested even as he made his way over to the asphalt. “Look, can't you spare – one can? I'll do-”

“Shut. Up.”

Bucky clutched his ice-axe tightly but the man had moved away, marching him down the road a good two strides behind him; not close enough to be within arm's reach, but not far enough to not be able to blow a hole through Bucky's sternum the size of a basketball if he so much as twitched in a way he didn't like. Smart bastard.

They continued walking for about a mile, Bucky trying to hold his tongue and figure out what the man's plan was every step of the way, until they came to to a bridge crossing a slow, oily creek thirty feet below. The banks on each end were ridiculously steep, covered in loose dirt and pebbles.

Bucky stopped walking.

“Move.”

“No.”

“ _Move_.”

Bucky dared to look over his shoulder. “You're going to kill me.”

The man leaned back on his right foot and sighed, annoyed. “If I wanted you dead I would've shot you.”

“ _Then why didn't you?_ ”

“Because I don't want to kill you, _buddy_ , but I don't want you to rob or kill _me_ either.”

Bucky raised his voice to shout, “Dropping me down in that shit hole with no food or water is as good as, you fuck.”

The man's mouth flattened into a grim line before he yelled, “ _So what do you expect me to do_ , huh? Just give shit away for you like a charity and _trust you_ not to hurt me?” He gestured with his gun towards the gully. “I'll be long gone by the time you get out of there.”

Bucky blinked back the sting in his eyes as he ground out, “I'm just trying to _survive_.”

The man's face hardened. “We all are.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and tightened his hand around his ice-axe until his knuckles went white. The man's finger moved to the trigger and he braced the stock. Slowly, Bucky backed himself up towards the edge of the gully and gave the man one last, contemptuous look before he turned and carefully skidded down the jagged slope. He landed in the creek-bed with a heavy _schlop_ , along with a small avalanche of dirt and rocks.

The man was on the ridge, looking down for who knows what, but once Bucky stood up he turned to leave. “The name's Bucky, by the way!” he called up. “Buck-y! You hear? Don't forget it!” But the man was already gone, rushing back to his supplies at a brisk jog. “Fuck.” He kicked a rock to splash into the grey sludge of the creek, then started pacing the gully, looking for the best way up.

It took him half an hour to find a section of slope a quarter mile north that was half frozen mud and half large, heavy rocks, overset with dead brambles. He flipped his ice-axe over his cold, numb fingers and then slammed the pick into the slope-face and yanked. It was steady. He hoisted himself up and delicately found a foothold, braced himself, quickly pulled the pick out and stabbed it somewhere higher, pulled himself up, rinse and repeat.

Eventually he stabbed his pick into the ground above and pulled his torso up and over the ridge, then scrambled completely out on elbow and knees. He pulled his axe out of the ground, wiped it on his jeans, then allowed himself a quick look behind him at the thirty feet he scaled. His body was trembling with over-exertion, his mouth was dry from thirst, and his stomach had long since silenced its growling in stead of a deep-set ache.

He had no choice. The last town was twenty miles back east, and the Midwestern forest stretched for farther. He had to find the man.

Bracing himself on his axe, he pushed himself up onto one foot, then the other, then pushed himself up off the ground to begin the quarter-mile trek back to the road and the race to catch up with the man before his body became too weak to save him.

–

Three miles down the road, the sky was as bright as it would ever be and he was gulping down lungfuls of air and quaking with exhaustion. Fifteen more feet until he crested a hill. He ducked his head and jogged the final instance, then staggered to a stop. The road went straight for miles. There was a very small moving figure in the distance that could only be the man.

He contemplated falling to his knees as a reward, but that was when he heard a low, deep, gurgling growl some ways off. He spun around to face the east, and trundling down the road was a large, broad, bulky 70s-looking teal pickup truck with a flat-bed full of young white men with guns.

A spike of adrenaline flooded through his system and he started running – over the crest of the hill westward, bounding over the ditch and into the woods. He had no idea if they saw him, but he knew what kind of men they were. There were caravans, families, lone wolves, stragglers, scavengers, hunters, and poachers. These men were poachers, and this much he knew: if the man with the wheel-barrow wasn't out of sight by the time that truck crested the hill, he would die.

He ran faster.

When his best guess said the truck would reach the hill at any moment, he ran back over the road, gasped for breath, then put his fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled.

The sharp, solid note echoed through the air and bounced off the trees. The man turned around. The engine of the truck was very loud, now, about one second from cresting the hill, and Bucky could hear one of them cry over the engine, “ _What the hell was that?_ ”

Both the man and Bucky began running at the same time. Bucky had an easier go of it; leaping back over the ditch and then sprinting for cover, but the man had to pop his wheel-barrow over the ditch and then push it through the ash and the brush. The truck crested the hill and he was barely in the treeline. The driver gunned the engine and the truck took off down the road with a roar and a cloud of exhaust.

Bucky ducked down behind a straggle of trees and watched the man disappear over a low hill. The truck would stop where they last saw him and the men would spread out to search. He caught his breath, then began jogging on light feet, flitting from cover-to-cover.

By the time he reached them, the poachers were already fanned out and hunting. He crouched low and scanned his surroundings, listening intently for their uncaring foot-falls, then moving away from the noise and ducking out of their sight-lines.

The wheel-barrow would have left a single, solid, obvious trail in the ash. The wind had died earlier that morning and would not cover the trail. This meant that the man would not stop running, either hoping to escape with his treasure, or by abandoning it and fleeing for his life.

In the distance through the trees Bucky saw a ragged, dilapidated trailer and a crooked shed. He also saw three of the eleven poachers slowly approaching the buildings, following the wheel's trail. The man would be there.

The three men fanned out – one with a semi-automatic rifle, one with a pistol, one with a pipe with scissor-blades duck-taped to its head. The rifle and pipe were heading to the trailer; the pistol was headed to the shed.

Bucky snuck over to the front of the shed and crouched, then peeked around the corner. The poacher was pressed to the side, safety off and finger on the trigger. Cautiously, he stepped around the corner and aimed his gun – Bucky took a quick stride forward and wrapped his right arm around his throat and _squeezed_ , dragging the man back onto his haunches. The man's air-way was pinched shut between his forearm and his bicep, and the poacher clawed wildly at his attacker, nails raking down the sleeve of his coat and slashing the air around his face. Eventually, the poacher's struggled died down to twitches and his strength waned; he gave one soft, choked-off noise, then went limp. Bucky held on until he was sure the man would not inhale again, then dropped the man when he heard a gunshot.

He sprinted over to take cover behind the trailer and dared to look around the corner. The man was crouched behind his wheel-barrow, wide-eyed, as the poacher with the semi-automatic swiftly approached. Bucky took his ice-axe from its holster, stepped around the corner, and threw it. The pick embedded itself in the poacher's eye, and his body gave one violent spasm before falling to the ground. A quick look around showed that the man had shot the poacher with the pipe between the eyes with one of his pistols.

He ran over to the body to retrieve his axe while the man stood up. Bucky removed it with a sickening wet sound and wiped the gore off onto the poacher's shirt before slinging the rifle over his shoulder and turning to the man.

The man was beaming at him like he hung the stars in the sky. In the adrenaline high, Bucky beamed back. He then holstered his axe and offered the man the rifle. The man wiggled his 9mm. The two men then tossed the weapons to each other, the man with the rifle, Bucky with the pistol, and turned to face the four poachers charging down the hill towards the sound of the gunshot.

The man dispatched two of them with the rifle in two deafening bursts of gun-fire while Bucky put three bullets into the chest of the poacher on the far-left before he had to dive behind the trailer for cover from the fourth. One more burst-round and he came around the corner again, watching as the body fell to the ground. They used the moment of respite to check how many shots were left in Bucky's case, discard the now-empty rifle in exchange for a revolver in the man's.

There were more yells coming from the east and west. The man turned to Bucky and in military sign language said _I hear enemy; two east; one west; me east; you west_. Bucky signed back _I understand_ , and they turned to face their attackers.

Bucky easily dispatched his by ambushing the poacher from behind a tree and killing him with a headshot. There was an exchange of gunfire on the other side of the trailer, and he ran over to find the man rolling underneath the trailer to escape the fire of the last standing poacher, staggering forward with a bullet in his hip and an Uzi in his hand. When he heard Bucky coming he turned and aimed before jerking backwards at another revolver bullet hitting him in the stomach; Bucky finished him off with a shot to the chest. Ten dead.

Bucky clicked the safety on and put the pistol in his waistband before he signed _one enemy south; vehicle_ , mostly so he wouldn't have to yell over the ringing in his ears. The man signed _I understand_ , and after Bucky redrew his pistol they grouped together to assault the truck.

When the truck came into view, they could see through the cluster of trees that the driver was laid out on the roof of the truck. They warily leaned around their respective trees to try and get a better look at what he was doing; all Bucky needed was to see the glint of a scope and he was throwing himself at the man with a hiss of “ _Get down!_ ” - a thunderous gunshot rang out and when they both hit the ground, a slow bloom of red blossomed from Bucky's left shoulder. He gulped back a gasp as the man looked around frantically, then saw his wound; he wrapped his arms around his middle and dragged him back behind a boulder as the driver reloaded and hysterically yelled, “ _How do you like that, ya fuckers! You kill my brothers, huh? You kill 'em?!_ ”

“Sniper,” Bucky panted, belatedly.

The man was pushing Bucky's coat off of his shoulder and shakily unbuttoning his overshirt. When he saw the wound, he licked his lips, gave an unconvincing smile, and shakily said, “It's not that bad.” He then peeled himself out of his layers and pulled off the top layer of his undershirts, folding it up and pressing it hard to the wound with a distracted, “Hold this.” Bucky was more than willing to oblige, and watched dazedly as the man ripped the sleeve off his own overshirt to tie the makeshift-compress in place. When that was done, they both pulled their shirts and coats back on, while the man breathed, “Okay. I'm sorry for this, but I need you to distract him while I flank him.”

Bucky blinked, gritted his teeth to will his adrenaline high not to give out anytime soon, then whispered, “If you run distraction, he might think I'm dead. He'll never see me coming.”

The man looked like he was going to move to squeeze Bucky's knee, but then aborted the movement and clenched his fists instead. “You're fucking _shot_. I'm not risking you getting into a tussle with him and him overpowering you, so fucking distract him instead of getting your _fool self killed,_ Tony.” After a second, the man looked like he'd been slapped; before Bucky could say anything, he moved to the other side of the boulder. Bucky pushed himself to his feet and crouched to the edge of the boulder.

The driver was yelling. “ _Aw, what's the matter? Did I kill your buddy? You crying? How's it feel?_ ” Bucky clenched his jaw, did a quick check of his pistol that he miraculously didn't drop, then blind-fired around the boulder, three quick shots. The man had sprinted out from behind the boulder and dived behind a log. Bucky heard the driver yell “ _Shit!_ ”, then leaned out from behind the boulder to see the driver resituating himself to shoot the man through the log. He aimed and fired; the bullet hit the roof of the truck, biting the driver's side with sparks and shrapnel. The poacher cursed again, then swung the rifle around; Bucky ducked back behind the boulder a blink before a bullet whizzed through the air where his face was.

“ _I fucking see you there!_ ” the driver was yelling; Bucky blind-fired around the boulder once then chanced a quick peek. The man was under the tail-gate, and the driver was climbing off of the roof. The truck was going to cover him from Bucky's fire, and the man would be on his own.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky pushed himself to stand, then staggered towards the road. He had one bullet. The driver was quickly approaching the man, rifle aimed, yelling. The man surged out from under the truck, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and shoving it skyward; it fired; he then yanked the rifle out of the driver's hands and bashed the stock of it into the driver's face. The driver reeled backwards, head thrown back, then pulled a hidden knife and rushed back forward. Bucky shot him in the temple.

The man looked at him with an unreadable expression, and Bucky stood there, smiling and panting through his teeth. He felt his heart-rate begin to finally slow down, and then his knees buckled.

–

He dreamed of blue eyes and freckles; a smile that was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds; a hopeful expression and a strong, warm voice that never made him doubt humanity. He dreamed of broad shoulders and strong hands, of an explosion and fire and the end of a line.

–

When he drifted awake, all the world was dark except for a comfortable fire off to his side. He moved to sit up and burning agony shot through his shoulder; he winced and hissed and fell back down, then noticed that he was wrapped in a blanket.

“Here,” came a soft murmur, and then a canteen was held to his lips. He drank down greedy gulps, then leaned back to look up at the man with the dark skin and warm brown eyes who was looking at him with a curious, soft expression.

“Are you going to leave me in a gully again?” he deadpanned, and that tore a laugh out of the man, who shook his head.

“Nah, man. I owe you _more_ than one.”

“Damn straight.”

The man chuckled softly. After a few long moments, he said, “Rhodey.”

“Hmm?”

“My name. Rhodey.”

Bucky nodded slowly, then tried the name out on his tongue. “ _Rhodey_. Nice. Mine's-”

“Bucky.” Bucky blinked up at him in surprise and was met with a rueful smile. “You told me not to forget it.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and wormed his arm out of the blanket to gently punch the man's– _Rhodey'_ s knee. “So where are we?”

Rhodey walked over to the fire and retrieved something which turned out to be a steaming can of chicken soup. “About three miles west. Here – careful, it's hot.”

Bucky accepted the can gratefully, took a quick, scalding sip, then set the can on the ground to cool. After he gulped down the broth, he rested himself on his elbow and sighed. “God, I can't remember the last time I had something _hot_. I couldn't risk a fire for the longest time.”

Rhodey smirked. “Actually, the last time you had something hot was this morning. And the day before that, too, when I thought you wouldn't choke on it.”

A pause. “How long was I out?”

“Two days. When you came down from the fight you went into shock and then I think exhaustion took over. The truck had gauze and alcohol-” he nodded towards the wound through his left shoulder, bound tightly “-so I took care of your wound and got us out of there.”

Bucky contemplated that for a long moment, listening to the soft crackling of the fire, the friendly snapping of twigs, before he properly pushed himself up into a sitting position and took a long draught from the soup can. He licked the broth from his upper lip, then looked up to warily meet Rhodey's gaze. “You took care of me for two days, covered only three miles... used up your stores...”

“You took a bullet for me.” Rhodey's expression was very grave. “I wasn't gonna let you die on me.”

Bucky smiled despite himself, his mouth bitterly twisting upwards before he could stop it. “Consider the debt repaid in full.” He looked away and gulped down another mouthful of soup. Rhodey, meanwhile, had taken another soup can from the embers of the fire with a gloved hand and set it aside to cool, scooting closer to Bucky's side.

And _fuck_ , Bucky wanted to close the distance, sit shoulder-to-shoulder with this stranger and wrap the blanket around them both because it had been goddamn _three years_ since he had human contact from someone who cared, since he saw affection in someone's eyes directed at him, since he looked at a person and thought _safe_ instead of _danger_. So yes, he wanted to plaster himself to Rhodey's side and fall asleep to the feeling of another human being, but instead he settled for, “So where you headed?”

“The Rockies. I hear there's a settlement over in Utah, that they're manufacturing a sustainable food chain.” He slurped a mouthful out of his own can, then prompted, “You?”

“Scavengers don't 'head' anywhere, pal,” Bucky drawled. “I can't exactly push a wheel-barrow or a shopping cart or some shit.” He jerked his head at his stump. Rhodey just hummed his acknowledgment and continued eating. Bucky had his can almost gone by the time he quietly added, “Away from Washington D.C., I guess.”

Rhodey grimaced. Both men took a moment of silence for the smoking crater, then finished their cans. Rhodey took them both and flattened them beneath his boot, then stuffed them into an empty ammo box. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“To Utah.” Rhodey licked his lips and shook his head, turning away, pacing, then turning back. “You fought amazing back there. We made a great team. I could use someone watching my back, and I could watch yours, and. And, uh.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky ground out. Rhodey blinked at him in surprise, and he stumbled, “Yeah, I mean – yeah.”

Rhodey walked over to the wheel-barrow, then, and rooted around until he found something. He walked back over to Bucky and held out his ice-axe, then an army knife. Bucky reverently took them both, laying the axe at his hip and then tucking the knife into his boot.

Rhodey sat down beside him and drooped. Bucky shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and chucked it at Rhodey instead, then shushed his protest with, “How much have you slept these past three days? Let me keep watch.”

Rhodey frowned, but only briefly. “Thanks,” he said with a soft smile, and then he was wrapped and curled up on the ground and out like a light.

Bucky leaned back on his hand and looked up at the cold, solid blanket of the sky. Maybe – just maybe – this would be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, this had the potential to be longer than it was but I called it off. I'm hoping to sort of change gears in this regard with the upcoming prompts.


	19. Day 19 - Vampire AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wet gasp escaped from Barnes's mouth and his metal arm slid down from Rhodey's shoulder to his hip and that, combined with the heady haze of panic/euphoria, was almost too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with a new chapter and new changes for the last leg of the challenge:
> 
>   * Less exposition
>   * Less world-building
>   * New 1000-ish word cap
> 

> 
> Finally being 2/3 of the way through the challenge, I want to not only update more frequently but _finish the challenge_ before I have to go into the work force. Hopefully, this will allow me to fill prompts and update faster. The fabled Day 30 is on the horizon, and I intend to reach it.
> 
> Also: this is probably the closest I'll ever come to writing smut.

“You look like shit.”

Barnes slowly lifted his head, blinking blearily at Rhodey through his shaggy curtain of hair. He seemed to process the words for a moment before warily smiling, then calmly declared, “You need to leave.”

Rhodey sat down on the edge of the bathtub where Barnes had exiled himself and crossed his arms. The room was a spacious one – an unused master bath in one of the Tower's many unused floors, full of pale marble and moss-green towels; a spacious shower-stall; a porcelain bath; and a sea-shell night-light. The most important feature of all, however – at least according to Barnes – would be the bullet-proof, electromagnetic door serving as the only entrance and exit to his makeshift prison cell.

“And _you_ need to _eat_.” Barnes threw him a sour glare, which Rhodey matched in kind. “You heard me. Look at you, you're killing yourself.”

Barnes pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “How did you even get in here? JARVIS said-”

“JARVIS has orders of command. I overrode him.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“It's been forty damn days since you last fed, Barnes.”

“You mean forty damn days since I _remembered_. And I _have_ fed.”

Rhodey shook his head and huffed. “Yeah, on cow's blood. Then it was goat's blood, then pig's blood, and when you threw those up, we hit the blood blanks. Guess what Clint told me the last time we saw you?” Barnes kept glaring. “'He looks like a dog on a vegan diet.'”

Barnes licked his lips, then looked away. “I'm not. Going back. _They_ – turned me into this, and I'm not. Again.”

“Even Steve knows you need a living-”

“ _Don't_ you bring him into-”

“-he offered himself to you, didn't he?” Barnes clenched his jaw and shook his head. “And you accepted.”

The next moment, Rhodey was sprawled across the bathroom floor – even on the verge of starvation, the metal arm packed a punch – and Barnes was struggling to stand, growling, “ _And I fucking gagged on it._ ”

Rhodey made a show of casually pushing himself up into a sitting position, then prompted, “What?”

“The serum.” Barnes leaned over to balance himself with the assistance-rail on quaking legs, looking for all the world like another display would kill him. “Not human.”

Rhodey crossed his legs on the floor and rested his elbows on his knees. “I'm offering.”

“ _No._ ”

“The only humans in this building that aren't civilians are me, Tony, Sam, Clint, and Natasha.” Barnes looked down. “I know that this isn't a small favor I'm offering you. It's big. _I know_.”

“No shit,” Barnes mumbled. He slumped against the wall.

“You can take a whole liter from me and I'll be fine.”

Barnes slid down the wall until he was back to sitting in the tub. There was a long pause before he said, “You know how Dr. Banner comes in here every once in a while?” Rhodey nodded. “He gives me shots. They mute my senses. I can't smell anything. If I could, I'd probably maul you, then claw through the floor and maul the others.”

“Because you're starving.”

Barnes wrinkled his nose and let his head list to the side with a non-committal hand-wave.

“And if you _weren't_ starving, you wouldn't maul anyone, right?”

A beat. Warily, Barnes side-eyed him. The bags under his eyes made him look even more dead-tired. “What if I kill you?”

“What if you don't?” Rhodey got up to his feet, approached the bathtub, and extended his hand. Barnes stared at it. “I'm trusting you to stop.”

Barnes slowly looked up into his face, absently shaking his head. “What do you get out of this?”

Rhodey's face softened a little. “Nothing. But _you_ can definitely get something out of this.” After Barnes did nothing but stare silently at his hand for a little while, he continued, “You regret the people you killed? You want redemption? You want to go after the people who did this to you?” Barnes swallowed thickly. “ _Let me help_. You want to prove yourself; I'm willing to give you a second shot.”

Carefully, Barnes placed his flesh-and-blood hand into Rhodey's. Rhodey hauled him up, then helped him step over the edge of the tub. Barnes braced himself on Rhodey's shoulders, then led them backwards so he could rest against the counter.

Rhodey could feel Barnes's breath puffing against his neck and, despite himself, his hair stood on end. After getting through that sensation, he looked back over and realized they were nose-to-nose.

Barnes kneaded his shoulders for a few seconds, then murmured, “I'm never going to be able to repay you for this.”

“Make something good out of your life. That's all I need.”

Barnes laughed softly and rested his forehead against Rhodey's collar-bone. Rhodey silently prayed that he couldn't detect how elevated his heart-rate had gotten. “What kind of man even are you?”

“A man that doesn't sit around and let people die, hopefully.”

And just like that, Barnes tilted his head and bit down into his neck.

At first, it was like a wasp sting. Rhodey twitched while Barnes's breath hitched, and soon there was the sensation that he was bleeding rather quickly. Rhodey's hands tightened around Barnes's elbows and Barnes let go only long enough to reposition and bite down again, then – there was the feeling of...

Rhodey swallowed heavily and tried to hold back a laugh. Barnes was licking slowly licking around the wound, and the feeling was – soothing. Honestly, the whole thing was like an extremely more kinky version of necking and the entire situation was so ridiculous, in the fact that it was so _intimate_ , Rhodey let out a small laugh.

A wet gasp escaped from Barnes's mouth and his metal arm slid down from Rhodey's shoulder to his hip and that, combined with the heady haze of panic/euphoria, was almost too much. Rhodey's eyes rolled upwards and it took everything he had not to shove his leg between Barnes's thighs. He settled for clutching his waist. Barnes's nails dug into his shoulder then and _fuck_.

After what seemed like both an hour and a second, Barnes stopped drinking and started licking around the wound while he reached back behind himself to open the medicine cabinet and retrieve the first-aid kit. He opened it, then pulled back from Rhodey's neck to grab a bandage and apply pressure, running his tongue over his lips and his teeth as he did.

Rhodey, meanwhile, was blinking through his daze. When he managed to rally some coherency, he managed, “Jesus Christ, Barnes.”

“James Buchanan, actually,” Barnes deadpanned. Rhodey slapped his elbow and got a smirk for his efforts. “Plus, if we're going to be doing this on a regular basis, I'd rather you call me Bucky.”

Rhodey chuckled softly and moved to take over applying pressure, but got his hands smacked away. “Same goes for you and calling me Rhodey.”

Barnes's eyes crinkled. “Deal.”


	20. Day 20 - Magic Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, face obscured by his helmet, dawned a slow, giddy, wild grin. Steve's face, meanwhile, was warring between extreme sympathy and extreme amusement when he said, “So let me get this straight. You two no longer have filters?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of bad stuff went down at home, so this prompt took... a while.

“ _All units be advised, two agents are compromised: Whiskey Sierra, Whiskey Mike. Avoid Sector 2; repeat, avoid Sector 2._ ”

Steve and Tony immediately headed for Sector 2.

The Avengers had been dispatched to Sydney, Australia, to oppose a “wizard army.” There were, in actuality, only about twenty of the pastel-cloaked figures, but each seemed to specialize in different magic. Thor, for example, had been dispatched to Sector 5, which was experiencing fire, extreme flooding, and earthquakes.

Sector 2 had gone completely dark and silent, so Bucky and Rhodey were dispatched because the two of them combined could deploy a wide range of tactics. The hope was that they'd be able to handle whatever they found there. Apparently, whatever was in Sector 2 was more than a two-man job could handle.

Steve and Tony didn't need to be told twice.

It took them exactly twenty-five seconds to get there. Tony dropped Steve onto the ground in between two apartment buildings and the two prepared for a dirty fight exactly twenty-five milliseconds before Tony picked up five life-signs behind an overturned truck.

What they saw when they got to the truck, they couldn't exactly make sense of.

Rhodey and Bucky were standing over three wizards, face-down and hand-cuffed on the asphalt. They were also staring at each other wide-eyed and speaking rapidly over each other. When they saw Steve and Tony approach, they seemed to start into an entirely new tirade.

“Oh thank God Tony look man I don't know what happened but something went-”

“-I'm not sure I can carry on like this Steve for fuck's sake-”

“-there was a big green flash from Chuckles- Chuckles? I couldn't come up with a better nickname, why am I nicknaming anyway-”

“-expect me to be able to fight- You shoulda just called him Asshole – Steve there's blood on your cheek is it yours are you okay why are you here we said that we'd-”

“-grown damn man – Do you _see what we've been reduced to_?!”

Tony, face obscured by his helmet, dawned a slow, giddy, wild grin. Steve's face, meanwhile, was warring between extreme sympathy and extreme amusement when he said, “So let me get this straight. You two no longer have filters?”

–

The Quinjet ride home was silent. At least – everybody capable of being silent was silent.

Rhodey and Bucky were sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from the others, effectively on display. Bucky had long since crossed his legs and buried his face in his flesh hand to muffle his constant mumbling, blushing slowly to the color of a tomato. Rhodey, on the other hand, had crossed both his legs and arms and was calmly telling his teammates exactly what was on his mind. Namely, “I see you all staring and you best keep on staring because I'm not going to talk about anything else but your staring.”

That changed the moment Clint smirked.

“-so don't- I will _fuck you up_ Barton don't even try it and Tony don't think I see you over there I know the look in your eye-”

Bruce, who was watching the proceedings for the past half-hour with wary fascination, quietly said, “I have an idea,” and left for the cabin.

Clint leaned forward to watch Bruce go. The moment the door clicked shut, he turned back to Rhodey, casually stretched, and began, “So... remember that party three weeks ago?”

“- _what_ did I say I don't know where you're going yes I remember but-”

“Were _you_ the one who ate the last slice of pepperoni? That I called dibs on?”

“-gonna _yes_ fuck!” Rhodey puffed up his chest and narrowed his eyes. “I was hungry and-”

Clint grinned and casually shrugged before leaning back into his seat. “All right, I'm good.”

Tony cracked his knuckles. Steve side-eyed him, and began, “If this is some kind of truth serum, it wouldn't be right to-”

Tony turned to face him. “You can _not_ tell me you're not also curious about the _thing_ , too. Right?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. With his filters still in place, he was able to remain silent.

Interpreting that as the go-ahead, Tony turned back to Rhodey. “Honey-bear! Rhodey! Love of my life, my moon and stars, best buddy in the whole world – why did you and Barnes come out of the same bedr-”

Steve kicked him in the ankle, but it was too late.

Bucky lifted his face out of his hand and growled, “It's not what you think.”

Rhodey, meanwhile, expanded. “-assuming you're talking about the morning after the party – It isn't what you think, yeah, we just got to talking and it was nice so I went to his room so we could continue and- and we- and it was nice-”

“- _he_ was nice,” Bucky mumbled, then ducked his head to hide his face behind his hair.

Rhodey began to say something but immediately stuffed the decorative cushion into his mouth. It only took away from his thunderous glare a fraction.

Tony had the benefit of decades to desensitize to Rhodey's glares, so he opened his mouth again. Natasha, however, cleared her throat. When Tony looked over, he was met by Natasha's clenched jaw and cold, threatening stare. Behind her, Thor was scowling and Clint was shaking his head and mouthing, 'Nah.' One glance at Steve's disapproving glower and Sam's grimace on his other side and Tony delicately bit his bottom lip.

The tense moment was broken by Bruce returning with a soft, victorious smile as he held up his bounty. “Noise-canceling headphones!”

–

Twelve hours later, the Australian Secret Assessment Division had contacted them and given them the incantation of the reversal-spell. Tony insisted on doing it as his own form of apologizing, and the moment it was done, Rhodey and Bucky marched to their rooms and didn't emerge for two days.

When they did, they met in the Tower's communal kitchen. They weren't the first to rise, but since Steve and Sam always went to Central Park to jog every morning, they were alone.

Bucky had made his way down to the kitchen in sweat-clothes and a messy pony-tail to make himself coffee and toast. When Rhodey shuffled in, still in his flannel pajamas, he put extra bread in the toaster. They ended up sharing a plate of toast in companionable silence at the central island.

After a while, Bucky rested his head on Rhodey's shoulder. “How lucky are we that we described that night as just 'nice?'”

Rhodey smirked and rested his cheek against his hair. “I couldn't think of any words good enough to describe the cuddling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only ten more left! I'm feeling good about the remaining prompts, too.


	21. Day 21 - Superhero AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Steve fell off the train and Tony couldn't invent the new element in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning for Major Character(s) Death.**

The day of Tony Stark's funeral was a sunny one. Thousands clustered around the fences of the cemetery, the news stations were out, and people wouldn't stop taking pictures. If you didn't know any better, you might have even thought he was still alive.

Rhodey reached over and squeezed Pepper's hand where she sat in the folding-chair beside him. They had a perfect view of the casket, all garrish in red and gold as it was. She was stoic, but her eyes were wet. Rhodey wasn't quite sure it hit him yet. In a way, he felt like he was back in Afghanistan, clutching a bloody suit-jacket in his hands and vowing both to himself and to the world that Tony would come back alive. Tony did, yet here he was, dead not from a bullet or a bomb, but palladium poisoning.

When the funeral was over, Rhodey lingered by the gates. He saw a distinctive black trench-coat in the distance, and after a tall woman passed, his eyes focused. The man was the last one standing by the casket as it was prepped to be lowered into the ground.

When Rhodey came up beside him, Director Fury nodded his greetings. “Colonel Rhodes.”

“Not really a Colonel anymore, sir,” Rhodey replied hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Surely you know of my resignation?”

Fury's face didn't so much as twitch. “That's why I'm here.” He turned to face him then, shoulders held up and back, face all severe authority. “You have my condolences, for what it's worth. Stark was...” He hesitated.

“He tried,” Rhodey supplied, hollow.

“And he succeeded,” Fury finished. Rhodey looked away from the casket to meet his eye. “It's my understanding that you are now in possession of the-”

“You can't have them.” It was the strongest Rhodey's voice had been since he resigned.

Fury delicately raised an eyebrow. “I know that.” Almost imperceptibly, his stance relaxed into something less formal, more friendly. “I'm here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

–

There was a time when Bucky would have been thrilled to be sent to the future. He certainly read enough dime-a-dozen sci-fi novels. He should have been flitting from block to block, marveling at this new, alien New York City, twice as tall and thrice as bright. Instead, he felt like a heavy piece of nothing, torn from everything he ever loved and deposited into a washed-out and hollow world that neither knew nor cared about him, his family long dead, Steve a skeleton at the bottom of a ravine.

The SHIELD psychiatrist talked his ear off about “grounding” and “motivation” so he wouldn't just lie in his bed and wait to rot, so he was at one of SHIELD's 24/7 gymnasiums, testing the limits of his strength against a punching bag. The deep ache in his arms and the sting in his wrapped hands were welcome distractions. They kept him focused. He found he was able to focus on everything that went wrong.

He thought of the army. Punch. He thought of Erskine, of Phillips. Punch punch. He thought of the people who cut him out of the ice. The chain rattled. They didn't really matter, in the end. They weren't to blame. He thought of HYDRA, of their Nazi hatred and the Red Skull's clawing for power. He thought of Arnim Zola, smiling above him while he was on the table, smiling when he was the only one to emerge from the train. His fist collided with the bag, sending it rocking back at a harsh angle. When it swung back, he spun around and kicked out. His heel connected, and it burst, skidding across the wooden floor and ruining its varnish.

He heard a heavy footstep behind him and he flinched. “I've been reviewing the results of your physical exam,” Director Fury drawled, emerging from the shadows with an open file. “Benching a thousand pounds, running a hundred yards in ten seconds, it's all very impressive.”

Bucky shrugged and went to the destroyed bag. “It was something to do.”

“And I have more for you to do.”

Bucky paused from where he was about to heave the bag up over his shoulder to eye the Director warily.

Fury closed the file with a soft snap and looked him in the eye. “How would you like to go back into the field?”

“Yeah, about that, I don't know enough about the war you eggs are fighting now to have any-”

Fury held up a hand. “Not the military.” Bucky slowly stood. “You've been briefed already about SHIELD, about who founded it.” Bucky nodded. “You've also been briefed on the Avengers Initiative.”

“Yeah, and I declined.”

“I'm asking you to reconsider.”

“I decline, present tense.” Fury widened his stance and crossed his arms. His frown was very disapproving. Bucky frowned right back. “I'm no hero.”

Fury was silent for a long moment. “This nation needs a Captain America.”

“He's dead.”

“I see a qualified super-soldier standing right here.”

Bucky shook his head and turned around. “You're not going to stand there and tell me that you want a washed-up sniper with a serum knock-off produced in a Nazi labor camp as Captain fucking America.”

“The Tesseract's been compromised.” Bucky froze. His thoughts froze, his heart froze. “We need all hands on deck for this one, and you're the most qualified. You fought this war before. We need you to do it again.”

Bucky slowly exhaled and began unwrapping his hands.

–

Of all the potential Avengers files to sort through, Captain America's caught Rhodey's eye the most. Mostly because he wasn't the original, either.

When he first met the man (dressed in skin-tight red, white, and blue that hugged his ass and standing stiff as a mannequin) on the Quinjet en route to Germany, he was greeted by a salute. He returned it.

Captain Barnes did not salute him because he used to be a Colonel.

–

Bucky never wanted to see another human being fall in his life.

His heart dropped into his stomach as he watched the tiny figure fall through the last threads of the worm-hole and plummet lifelessly downwards. As the Chitauri began to collapse around him, he sprinted towards the area where he would land.

When he arrived, Hulk roughly deposited him on the ground and panted heavily. He and Thor both rushed to his side; Thor pried the mask off and flung it aside, while Bucky curled a hand over the arc reactor. All three stared at his face.

Finally, Rhodey licked his lips, winced, and fluttered his eyes open. “I didn't... join NASA... for a _reason_.”

Their eyes met, and Bucky kissed him.

–

Rhodey, Bucky, and Bruce stood in a small suit-wearing cluster as they watched Thor leave with his brother, Tesseract in tow. Bucky mock-saluted with his middle finger both it and Loki before they vanished in a beam of blue light. All three warmly waved at Natasha and Clint as they left, then turned towards the inconspicuous black SUV that pulled up beside them.

The driver stepped out of the vehicle, opened the side door, and regally announced, “Courtesy of Ms. Potts.”

Rhodey turned towards his two companions and stiltedly began, “You know, you can reject my offer at any time-”

Bruce, however, was already climbing into the SUV with an “I appreciate it” and one of his gentle smiles. That alone would've placated Rhodey's worries, but Bucky pecked him on the cheek and said, “I'm not complaining,” before climbing in after him.

Rhodey shook his head slightly and took a moment to reflect on his life before climbing in after them. Maybe, just maybe, being a superhero wasn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My 1000 word cap is _brutal_ , and I only have myself to blame.


	22. Day 22 - Online Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Soldier2Soldier is a program made by veterans for veterans to help connect brothers-in-arms and open dialogue about shared experiences._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked into the heart of my "1000-word-cap" rule and just. Destroyed it. Just destroyed it.

“Rhodey. Rhodey. Rhoooodey. Rhodey! Rodney.”

_Soldier2Soldier is a program made by veterans for veterans to help connect brothers-in-arms and open. . ._

“Rhodes. Rhode-man. Rhodey-bear. Hell-o!” A short whistle.

_. . . dialogue about shared experiences. This program was created as a healing tool. . ._ “Hmm?”

“Me and Pepper are leaving to go watch the fireworks off the coast, put down the laptop and put on your shoes-”

_. . . letting soldiers know they aren't alone and helping them connect to resources and support networks._ “What fireworks?”

“Um. It's the _Fourth_ of _July_?”

Rhodey snapped his laptop shut and lurched out of his chair. “ _Shit_ what time is it?! Oh _fuck_ -”

“It's 5 o'clock! Jesus! Where's the fire?!”

Rhodey was bustling around his apartment, grabbing bottles of water and a bag of chips before shoving his laptop into its bag and wrestling his feet into his sneakers. “It's nothing. Don't worry about it. But I'm not going. I gotta- write a report that I forgot about.”

Tony didn't say anything. That was extremely uncharacteristic, so Rhodey paused in his action of slinging the laptop bag over his head to get a good look at him. He looked ruffled and disturbed.

“James Rhodes forget a report? Blasphemy. You're bullshitting me.” Rhodey was already walking out the door. Tony scurried after him. “ _Where_ are you even _going_?”

“To the community basement.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“To type the report.” Rhodey locked his apartment door behind him and started for the elevator, then changed his mind and headed for the stairs, then changed his mind and went back towards the elevator, before glancing out a window and seeing kids in the street with sparklers. He stormed down the stairs, Tony hot on his heels.

“You are a big fat liar who - ow! - lies!”

Rhodey breezed through the open door to the basement, waited for Tony to come in behind him, then shut the door. All the noises from outside became muffled, and he let out a breath. “You wouldn't understand, Tony.”

Tony caught his breath, then crossed his arms and harrumphed. “Try me.” Rhodey went over to the couch and dumped his armful of things, then started looking for the remote to the television. “You've been acting weird ever since you got back.”

Rhodey glanced over his shoulder. “From my tour.”

“From your tour.”

“From my tour in Afghanistan.”

“From your tour in Afghanistan.”

Rhodey crossed his arms and took a deep breath. When Tony just grimace-smiled, he quirked a brow. “Fireworks.” Tony's smile slowly tapered off of his face as Rhodey eased himself down onto the couch.

“I don't...” he cleared his throat. “They're pretty.”

“Explosive noises.”

Tony frowned, then glanced around the room. He walked over to the counter on the far end and returned with the remote. Rhodey turned the TV on, changed it to the Food Network, then turned up the volume.

Tony stuck his hands into his pockets and side-eyed Guy Fieri. “His hair is really fucked up.”

“Mhmm.”

The next moment Tony had his phone in his hand and was dialing a number. “Uh. Tony? What are you doing?”

“I'm moving the party off of my yacht and into here.”

“That's really not nece-”

“Yes? Hello! Yeah, screw the yacht, we're moving all the festivities to the basement of the Royale Complex on 23rd. Yeah. Do it.” He hung up and beamed.

Rhodey shook his head, but his mouth was fighting a losing battle with a smile. His leg still hadn't stopped jiggling from the moment he said _Explosive noises_.

That night, all the cheers and screams and pounding music and alcohol drowned out and dulled everything for a while. He couldn't hear a single firework, and by the time everybody passed out, only the especially dedicated were still setting off their stock.

The next day, Rhodey forced everyone to clean up and ordered Tony to make reparations lest the landlord evict him, then bid he and Pepper farewell when they left for the airport. He found his laptop, replaced it into his bag, then took the elevator back up to his apartment. He did his daily hygeine routine, ate a strong breakfast of pancakes with heavy maple syrup, and nursed a glass of water. When that was done, he put on his sunglasses and braved the sunlight to get into his SUV and get groceries.

Two blocks away, a bomb rolled out onto the road. He swerved hard and accelerated into the front of a FedEx truck. He would learn later in the hospital that the bomb was in fact a coffee can a kid was using as a toy.

–

_. . . to be informed that Soldier2Soldier is not an alternative to counseling, and the founders strongly encourage participants to seek out therapy options._

Rhodey's phone dinged with yet another message from Tony on the nightstand. With a heavy sigh, he reached over and unlocked it. 11 new messages.

_-r u ok bb_

_-talk 2 me_

_-u didn't hit ur head that hard_

_-i will fly back down there in a heartbeat_

_-im sending the fleet_

_-how many kittens do u want_

_-i will buy u every puppy in the world_

_-u can borrow happy_

_-u can have happy_

_-r u ok._

_-pls reply._

Rhodey frowned. Working Tony up into a tizzy was never a good thing, and he _did_ stop texting him after breakfast...

_-i'm ok. need to be alone for a while. appreciate concern. any talks already delivered by mama. call off pepper._

After he got the _message sent_ screen, he shut his phone off and turned back to his laptop.

_Soldier2Soldier guarantees its members' privacy while ensuring that every member is a soldier of the US Armed Forces. You never have to fear that you're talking to an imposter. Simply create an account – it's free! - and fill out the required information to confirm your service. No one will see your information, not even us, and if you have any questions please refer to our privacy policy._

Rhodey tapped his fingers idly on the side of his laptop, staring at the 'Create Account' button. Finally, he whispered, “Fuck it,” and clicked it.

It took him a good hour to prove his identity to the system by hunting down his records, but eventually he got the confirmation e-mail. It took him back to the site where there was a warm _Welcome!_ Page.

_The Soldier2Soldier program randomly generates a companion to assign to you. When you get your companion, you will only know their first name. Any other information will have to be disclosed by the participants. You can select either the letter format or the chat-room format at any given time. Remember the Terms of Service before you write. When you're ready, click the Generate Companion button below._

Rhodey's mouse hovered over the button for a couple of seconds before he clicked it.

_You've been matched! JAMES is offline. LETTER or CHAT._

Rhodey clicked _letter_ and stared at the writing template. After a minute of staring, he moved his laptop aside and flopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

_Dear James,_ No. _Mr. James:_ That was ridiculous, no. _James:_ Too awkward. _To Whom It May Concern:_ Too formal. He let out a long groan. _Dear Stranger._

Rhodey sat up and pulled his laptop back over.

_James,_

_I doubt we know each other. I've worked with hundreds of soldiers during my career and dozens of them were named some variant of James. In fact, James is my own name. Fancy that._

He grimaced and erased it all.

_James,_

_My name is James. How about it! We already have something in common._ Smooth, Rhodes. Smooth. _Since we're off to that good of a start, I'll go ahead and share some more things about myself:_

_I was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. I've served for a little over fifteen years. Things happened, and I'm honorably discharged now. I live a relatively quiet life in California. I'm also thinking about getting a dog. Do you like dogs? Do you have any suggestions?_

_I hope all is going well for you._

_Sincerely,_

_James_

He cleared his throat. That was as good as he was going to get. He harshly clicked _send_ before he could erase anything, logged out, shut off the laptop, and sank down into his mattress.

–

Rhodey absently shuffled through his mail while munching on a granola bar. When he found a statement from his insurance company, he tossed the rest aside and took it to the couch.

The entire thing gave him a headache. He left the paper on the couch cushion and instead pulled his laptop over. On a whim, he logged into Soldier2Soldier.

_1 New Message_

His heart skipped a beat. He immediately scolded himself for acting like he was still in middle-school and opened it.

_Dear James,_

_Apparently our parents had the same idea for names. As for me, though, I prefer to go by Bucky. It's a long story, but I have time to tell it._

_See, my actual name is James Buchanan Barnes. Very homely. Named after a president, the whole nine yards, but apparently 5 yr old me wasn't happy about it. Apparently, I marched right up to my ma one day and_ demanded _that she call me Bucky. I don't know. I can't exactly remember why I did that, but I remember some kind of tangent about my middle name and every other boy named James being a bully? My point is, it stuck, and the only people who call me 'James' anymore are government paperwork._

_And wow, a Lieutenant Colonel, eh? Fifteen years? Well gosh golly, mister, that's mighty fancy. I only served three years in the Army before things happened, but I was honorably discharged at Sergeant._

_I say go for the dog. Dogs are the seventh wonder of the world. I've always liked golden retrievers – they're just... I don't know, hopeful? Loyal? Optimistic? Can a whole species be optimistic? Anyway, as nice as golden retrievers are, maybe it would be a good idea to go to some kill shelter and get an old mutt. Might not last you long, but a quiet life in California sounds good for a dog like that. I have a chaotic life in New York. Not so good for pets._

_Take care,_

_Bucky_

Rhodey read and re-read the letter (e-mail?), took mental notes, then wrote a letter of reply:

_Dear Bucky,_

_I actually go by a different name too, only I don't really have strangers call me it. One of my friends started calling me Rhodey one day – my full name's James Rupert Rhodes – and I liked it because it was unique. I usually ask friends to call me that, although old Air Force buddies and my family still call me Jim._

_For what it's worth, I'm sorry about those things that happened._

_I was sort of thinking of a more long-term companion. I don't think I could stand losing a gold-fish these days._ Rhodey thought long and hard about what he was willing to disclose. _Things have been getting a little rough lately. Maybe a therapy dog would be a good idea. Did you know they have dogs for PTSD? I saw an ad featuring them on YouTube once._

_I guess I feel like I've been physically back for two years, but I'm still not Back._

_Some days are harder than others._

_I'd feel awkward talking about this if this website wasn't actively encouraging it._

_I hope you have a good day :)_

_Sincerely,_

_Rhodey_

–

Two days later, Rhodey hurried up the stairs to his apartment and shed off his jogging shirt to hit the shower. He ended up losing time, and got out more tense than when he went in.

As was becoming part of his routine, he checked Soldier2Soldier at ten o'clock. 1 New Message.

_Dear Rhodey,_

_I have a friend who won't shut up about therapy dogs. To give him credit, he's a therapist and a veteran who works at the VA. This would all be fine if he didn't keep trying to give me the number of a friend of a friend of his that trains PTSD dogs. I still don't know if he wants to get me a dog or a date._

_I know what you mean by not being Back. Everything's different now. It's like relearning how to walk. I can't be outside too long or else I start shaking. Too many people behind me. I dived behind some newspaper stands when I saw an upper-story window glint and some doucheface frat boy started laughing his ass off. My friend (not the veteran) kicked him in the nuts. It was great._

_It makes sense that I'll never truly be entirely back. Mostly because my left arm is still somewhere in Iraq._

_Bucky_

–

The next morning, Rhodey was jogging on the beach, stewing over Bucky's letter and trying his best to think of how to reply. Eventually he slowed to a crawl, then stopped all-together. He caught his breath and listened to the whisper and hiss of the ocean. The morning was a mix of cool purple, warm orange, and rosebud red.

Rhodey fished out his phone and stopped his music. He put away his ear-buds, pulled up his camera, then turned towards the sunrise. He took a picture.

_Attached: sunrise.jpg_

_Beautiful sunrise, hope you enjoy X_

–

_Attached: nycsunrise.jpg_

_I see your California sunrise and raise you a New York sunrise :P_

Rhodey leaned over his kitchen counter and snickered over his phone. It was a garbage truck illuminated from behind as the sun breached the horizon.

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_I'm not sure if you'd find this interesting, but I thought I'd tell you about my day._

_Every morning I always go out for a jog at 5AM to miss the crowds, and as I was making my rounds on my usual route, I hear this yowling coming from above me. So I look up and there's a cat in a tree. Shit you not._

_This cat is freaking out, scared to death. You'd think it would be smart enough to know not to climb something it's not willing to climb back down, but hey, I don't know this cat. Maybe it saw a pretty bird. Maybe there was a mean dog. Whatever happened, the poor thing was so nervous and nobody else was awake, so I ended up climbing the tree after it. I get up there, and the moment I'm within range, the cat lunges at my neck. My neck is its new tree._

_That startles me so much that I jump. Yeah, I know, I jumped in a tree. The force of my landing snapped the branch off and it went plummeting three stories down to the ground, leaving me dangling by my hands with a cat clawing its way onto my shoulders._

_I manage to pull myself up onto the bigger branch and sit. The cat was latched onto my shoulders and shaking. We're both officially stuck in a tree because the next branch strong enough to support my weight was seven feet down. With nothing better to do, I start talking to it._

_I can't even remember what I said, but the cat really liked it. Eventually it stopped shaking, and it started pawing at my arm_ without _its claws. I hold up my hands and it hops into my arms, so I settle it onto my lap and try to pet it. Before I know it, it's purring._

 _We spend the next hour or so doing that. A car passes right by us, then another, then another. Apparently everybody must be thinking, “Ah, yes, another day in Malibu, another man chilling in a tree with a cat.” So I start yelling for help. Maybe I didn't sound panicked enough, because people walked_ right under the tree _and when I asked if they could call the fire department they laughed!_

_Eventually the family in the house closest to the tree got tired of my yelling and came out to see what was wrong, and when I explained the situation they finally called the fire department. They brought in an engine and got us down with the ladder. I made the town paper!_

_Also, it turns out the cat has no owner. It was a stray! So I got a free cat! Her name is Maple._

_Wishing you well,_

_Rhodey_

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_Of course I'd be interested!!!!!!! OMG you're a full-blown superhero you know that?!?!?! Rescuing cats from trees, look at you!_

_You named her Maple?!! Was that the tree she was saved in?!!_

_Also, can I have a picture?_

_Regards,_

_Bucky_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_I don't really know what kind of tree it was, but I thought naming her Maple was a cute idea at the time._

_And sure you can have a picture!_

_Wishing you well,_

_Rhodey_

_Attached: maple-and-me.jpg_

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_Gorgeous and adorable in equal measure._

_The cat's nice, too._

_;),_

_Bucky_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_You flatterer._

_:P,_

_Rhodey_

_PS: Could I possibly have a picture of you?_

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_Of course you can!_

_Cordially,_

_Bucky_

_Attached: selfie.jpg_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that instead of sending a picture of yourself you mistakenly sent me a picture of a bunny._

_Wishing you well,_

_Rhodey_

_P.S.: Maple says hi._

–

_Rhodey,_

_Are you saying I look like a bunny, sir? Never in all my life have I been so ~insulted. Hmph!_

_Since Maple has done me no wrong, tell her I say hi back._

_Bucky_

–

Rhodey was lounging on his couch while Maple was napping on his stomach. He was slowly scratching her behind her ears while he watched My Cat From Hell when his phone dinged. He picked it up and opened the message. It was from Tony.

_-bf or gf_

Rhodey blinked and wrinkled his nose at the message.

_Excuse me?-_

_-is it a bf or gf_

_What are you talking about-_

_-u have been blowing me off 4 months u r obvsly dating_

_I am not dating anyone-_

_-o im sorry I didnt realize I txted 1-800-ICU-LYIN_

Rhodey fondly rolled his eyes.

_I made a new friend and got a cat. I've been busy-_

_-when did u get cat!!_

_Like a week ago Tony I sent you a picture-_

_-oh_

_-thought it was lolcat meme deleted_

_Since when do I send memes-_

_-i didnt look at who sent it!_

_-anyway who is friendliness_

_guy I met online-_

_-:o_

_-:o :o :O_

_-dating website_

_No-_

_-then this deal seems shady suggest u drop his assassinate_

_We met on a website that wasn't shady and since when do you parrot stranger danger psas and lastly he's not an assassin-_

_-autocorrect rhodey work w me here_

_-y did u not tell me_

_Because it didn't concern you?-_

_-but the cat concerned me_

_Yes!-_

_-y_

_I don't want you waltzing in and start yelling about some strange cat-_

_-point taken_

_-what kind of friend is new friend_

_Good friend-_

_-better than me >:O_

_No one can replace you tony-_

_-there can only be one_

_-i will fight them_

_-jk u can have frnds_

_-r u coming 2 this yrs expo_

_Don't I always?-_

_-:D :D :D_

_-all i wanted 2 kno_

_-enjoy new bf_

_Not!-_

_My!-_

_Boyfriend!-_

But Tony never replied.

–

_Rhodey_

_I don't want to worry you about this but you're the only person I can think of to talk about it and I don't want to talk to anyone I know about it so I just need to tell someone._

_Me and three friends went out to eat at this fancy restaurant. We'd been saving up for it. We reserved a booth in the back corner so I could see everything around me and it was great. We had this waiter and at first he was really nice and charming and the food was good and I was having the best night I've had in a while._

_At the end when the waiter gave us the bill he also slipped me his number. I turned to face him and started to try and say something I can't remember and he saw my stump. This part I remember clearly. The guy said “Oh” and reached forward and took his number out of my hand and walked off._

_My memory's unclear after that but my friend chased after him and started yelling and caused a big scene and got us banned for life. I can't stand to look at him. I don't want to talk to any of them but I'm in a really bad headspace right now and can't think straight._

_I'm sorry._

_Bucky_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_Don't be sorry. No one should ever go through anything like that. You didn't deserve that. That waiter was a disgrace. The only one whose worth is diminished is his; not yours._

_I'm sure your friend had the best of intentions, but he shouldn't have done anything you didn't want. You were supposed to be in control of that situation and you weren't. That sucks. Still, you should probably find him and sit him down in private and explain to him that what he did wasn't what you needed at that moment. If he's really your friend, he'll listen to you._

_Lots of our brothers and sisters lost limbs over seas. Lots more came back with scars. No matter how much you lose, or how much you change, you still deserve happiness. Remember that._

_I know I haven't seen you but I think you're a good, funny, wonderful human being. I'd like to meet you some day._

_Take care,_

_Rhodey_

_Attached: maple-being-cute.jpg_

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_Thank you. I followed your advice and talked with him (the friend). He was mortified, but we got on the same page. This actually kinda opened my eyes to the stuff he went through. I did something almost exactly like this to a girl who called him a crip in the middle of a date during college. I sorta feel like the pot calling the kettle black, but believe it or not, we're closer now than we were before._

_I have two other friends who are great, but outside of them, I feel like I'm just some kind of prop. When people aren't staring at me, they're thanking me for my service before getting the hell out of dodge, and when they're not thanking me for my service they're saying they feel sorry for me. It's like I'm “Veteran With Lost Arm” that you can buy for 4.99 on Hallmark's knick-knack shelf. That's all I am to people anymore._

_I'm not even proud of my service. We never should have been there. I was my unit's sniper and I was constantly questioning orders. The conversations I had with the civilians were the only thing keeping me sane. I ended up hating my own unit and my CO. As the truth came out about what we were actually doing there I just grew more and more disillusioned. Everything I did was for nothing. Worse than nothing. Sam, the veteran friend I sometimes mention, he calls it “moral injury.” Damn fucking right._

_Do you ever feel anything like this? Are you going to call me a disgrace? Do I still deserve happiness?_

_Bucky_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_Sometimes I feel that way. I've been blessed in that most of my actions seemed justified and that I had a good crew and good COs. But my experience doesn't ring true for every soldier that went over there. The reports about Abu Ghraib are a testament to that._

_My biggest shame is a mission that occurred at the tail-end of my military career. I was charged with escorting a nuclear specialist out of Afghanistan. We were in a convoy of armored vehicles. It was the middle of the night._

_We were ambushed in a gulley. It was a massacre. My vehicle and crew were the only ones to survive._

_That failure haunts me. It follows me. I was discharged with high honors but it feels hollow. Combine that with all the lives I took and “disgrace” is something that pops into my head rather frequently. I keep thinking about all the things I could have done differently, all the ways I could have been better. My best friend calls me his hero. I want to tell him he has no idea what he's talking about._

_War is Hell. We survived it. That's all anyone should ever ask of us._

_The only person we owe is ourselves, and what we owe is this: come back. Find home. And rebuild our lives._

_Rhodey_

–

_Attached: me.jpg_

–

_Attached: my-reaction.jpg_

–

_Did you fucking tape pink paper hearts over your eyes._

–

_I thought it was a cute idea._

_Attached: maple-edition.jpg_

–

_You're going to be the death of me, Rhodes._

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_I thought I'd take some time to tell you about how my Thanksgiving went. . ._

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_That's really embarrassing?!?!? If it makes you feel better, here's how mine went. . ._

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_I had a bad day today. I was doing my usual grocery run when I saw plumes of smoke. A car was burning on the side of the highway and I. . ._

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_That sucks that that happened. You know that if you ever need to talk, I'm here. In fact, you can talk to me any time. Here's my contact information. . ._

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_Thanks again for talking with me last night. It was wonderful to hear your voice! Has anyone ever. . ._

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

_I've been so inspired by how Maple is working out with you that I'm actually considering getting a therapy dog. . ._

–

_Dear Bucky,_

–

_Dear Rhodey,_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

–

_Love,_

_Bucky_

–

_Dear Bucky,_

_You know how you've been wanting to go to the Stark Expo this summer? What would you say if I got both you and me all-around passes for it? And when I say “you and me,” how would you feel about going with me? I'm actually coming to New York City for a month or two and I would love to meet you. I'm sure Maple would, too._

_So how about it? If you're already going with someone, I can always take someone else._

_Love,_

_Rhodey_

–

_Rhodey_

_Shut the fuck up I'd LOVE to meet you holy shit when are you arriving?!?! Which airport? What time? I need to make preparations._

_Love,_

_Bucky_

–

The airport in New York City was pale and sterile, as most airports were. The most colorful things were the people, anxiously buzzing in and out and around like a hive of bees, rushing to their destinations. A thick impression of coffee wafted down from the Starbucks on the corner. Rhodey's hand tightened on the handle of his luggage. It was all very similar to when he returned from his last tour.

Back then, he was getting off beside over a dozen other servicepeople. Wives, husbands, and children were waiting on the other side, bouncing on the balls of their feet, holding up signs and balloons. Little toddlers went waddling and squealing towards their papa or their mama, and he watched as something washed over the faces of those who served when they reunited with their families.

Rhodey had his mother, his father, his nieces and his nephews and his cousins. And Happy with a giant stuffed bear.

This time was quite different, and not only because he was wearing civvies instead of his uniform. He also had a cat in a pet-carrier and was scanning the crowds for someone who may or may not have been his boyfriend.

After passing over several families and businesspeople in suits, his eyes landed on a cardboard 'Rhodey' sign. He looked up and met Bucky's eyes.

He was a picture straight out of a dream. Long brown hair pulled back in a pony-tail, freshly shaven, blue eyes crinkling, smile beaming, his entire face lit up like the sun. He waved with his flesh hand, still holding the sign with his prosthetic.

Rhodey found himself taking one step, two steps closer, before he was speed-walking over to him smiling so wide his face felt like it could split in half. When he got to him, he slung his luggage aside and gently set Maple beside his feet. Bucky dropped the sign and hugged him tightly. When they broke apart, they were nose-to-nose, still holding on to each other.

He was so _solid_ and _warm_ and _real_ , Rhodey could hardly believe it. And his eyes were very bright. And his lips were... very close. Lacking any other ideas, he wheezed, “Hi.”

Bucky grinned wider. “Hey yourself.” His eyes flickered downwards, and then Rhodey was pulled into a kiss.

He came back.

He found home.

And he was pretty sure that the both of them could rebuild their lives.


	23. Day 23 - Mythical Creature/Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash of maroon scales registered in his peripheral vision and he looked out at the water.
> 
> The merman's head was sticking out of the water about thirty yards out. He was floating, calm as can be, just staring at him. Bucky stared back.

“Oi Junior! Wake the _fuck_ up!”

Bucky flinched away from the railing and turned to face Peterson. “Oh, c'mon, Smiley. Can't a poor fisherman stop to smell the sea salt every once in a while?”

Smiley Peterson was a large burly middle-aged white man. He had a thick wiry beard the color of ditch mud and a frown that seemed to be permanently ironed onto his face. “Not if you don't wanna get paid, ya don't.”

Bucky let out a weary sigh and joined the others as the captain of the _Salty Siren_ hollered that they were approaching the next hot spot.

If he was honest with himself, the only reason why he was on the crew in the first place was because he was desperate. Six months ago, he received a notice from his boss that he'd been laid off from the steel manufacturing company along with about a hundred others. The man gave him an empty pat on the shoulder and announced, with a sharp smile, “You can thank that union of yours.”

After three months of job hunting and having doors shut in his face, and after two loans and one unpaid hospital bill because Steve got a bad stomach ulcer, he practically threw himself onto the rickety old fishing vessel full of rickety old men after one of their own fell overboard and drowned. Because he was 21 and the next-youngest was 32, they slapped the name “Junior” on him and off they sailed for him to earn his sea-legs. Three months in, and he already had two new scars.

The pulleys whined and groaned as they hauled the net up towards the surface, complete with a full load of fish. The crew stood along the deck in their rubber boots, flexing their gloved fingers, anticipating the haul and the resulting payload once they got back to shore.

Everything went smoothly until the lines jerked from some unseen force and the pulleys began struggling.

“Oh fuckin' _fuck_ me,” Peterson cursed. “Don't tell me we got another _fuckin'_ shark.” He spat over the side.

Billy simply frowned disapprovingly and increased the output of the generator. The pulleys groaned again, but began hauling the net upwards once more.

When the top of the net finally surfaced and the fish began thrashing, it became apparent that something very, very large was tangled in the net further down.

Mark staggered over to the railing and peered over, then shrieked, “Shit!”

“It's a fuckin' shark ain't it?”

Mark looked over his shoulder, wall-eyed. He made a strangled noise before shaking his head, then pointed wildly at the net.

The crew immediately flocked to the starboard railing.

As the net rose further and further out of the water, the crew of the _Salty Siren_ could see, in a thick knot of net near the bottom of the load, a giant maroon fish-tail roughly five feet long thrashing futilely. Kyle yelled over the din, “What the hell kinda fish is _that_?”

The next second, as the net slightly spun around, finally clear of the water, they could see that attached to the fish-tail was a human torso. A living human torso. A black man with a fish-tail.

The entire ship fell silent in stunned shock. The merman grasped the net with one hand and had the other tightly held in a fist. He was breathing heavily, thick gasps of exertion, and he met each of their gazes with an expression of quiet terror.

A loud, piercing shriek broke Bucky out of his stupor: “We're gonna be _rich!_ ”

The crew of the _Salty Siren_ exploded into a roar of unhindered joy as they grasped at the net with a single-minded fervor to haul it onboard. Bucky slowly backed up towards the pulleys. The merman was looking at him again, and seemed to understand that he was about to do something monumentally stupid.

Bucky pulled his father's army-knife out of his boot, stuck it between his teeth, and climbed the pole to the main pulley. Just as the pole began to swing the net over the deck, he quickly sliced through the rope.

The net swung outlandishly to the side, snapping off the last pulley. The net crashed against the side of the ship before tumbling back into the sea, sprawling open as it did so; the fish spilled out and swam rapidly away, and the merman disappeared from view, still tangled in the net.

Bucky dropped down onto the deck as the boat rocked wildly; when he regained his balance, so did the rest of the crew.

He looked up just in time to see Peterson's fist.

–

When he came to, he was laying on the floor of the captain's cabin. He groaned, then blinked, then blinked again. Slowly, he sat up, and tenderly touched his nose. There was a bandage on it. When he brushed his hand across his upper lip, there were a few flakes of dried blood.

“In Billy's defense, we don't really have a medic on board. He did the best he could.”

Bucky winced and ducked his head at the captain's voice. “Captain Dugan, sir...”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

Bucky grimaced and slowly turned to face him, crossing his legs. “Dum Dum. Sir.”

Dum Dum flashed a smile beneath his ridiculous bowler hat. He was sitting on his mattress, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “That's better.”

“I, uh... Sir, I, um... You've heard?”

“Jimmy, I was _there_.”

“It's Bucky.”

“Sure, Jimbo.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but continued. “It wouldn't have been right to – capture that – I don't like the thought of what people would do if they got their hands on him. Sir.”

Dum Dum bit his bottom lip and sat up straight. After a beat, he sighed and sagged. “I know, Junior. You were doin' something ' _moral_.' Very hero-y, like in the movies.” He frowned severely. “But you lost us our catch, our net, and you broke our equipment. We don't have a choice now but to return to port empty-handed and spend money we don't have to replace all of this shit. None of us are getting wages 'cause of your stunt.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't say stuff you don't mean.”

Bucky hung his head and gently squeezed his knees. “I'm fired, aren't I.”

“Don't be so hasty.” Bucky jerked his head up. Dum Dum lost a fight with a grin. “I'm willing to give you a second chance, considering that you're not bringing home any bacon just like the rest of us.”

Bucky scrambled to his feet and reached out to shake Dum Dum's hand. “Thank- Thank you, sir, I won't let you down, sir.”

Dum Dum stood, grasped his hand tight, and roughly shook it. “Stop being such a dumbass and we'll be right as rain.”

–

Back in New York, Bucky stood in the streets of Brooklyn, staring at the buildings and the people and the cars. He was rooted in front of Freddy's Fish Market with empty pockets and absolutely no will to return to his apartment.

Every time he returned home, he would buy one of the fish from the _Salty Siren's_ catch and present it to Steve as part of their ritual of cooking fish each time Bucky came home from the Atlantic.

Without that fish, and without any new funds to help take the financial strain off Steve's back, Bucky found that he couldn't stand the thought of returning to their apartment.

So he walked.

When he finally stopped walking, the sun was setting, creating a brilliant smear of pinks and purples and oranges on the horizon. The tide was lapping at the wooden stands of the pier above his head, the sand was cooling, and the last strains of sunlight filtered through the wooden slats high above.

Bucky looked out at the ocean and sagged against a support beam. He thought that he'd stay until it was dark, then traipse home and make up some wild story about how he got mugged (the bandage on his nose helped) and dropped the fish down a storm-drain. It was certainly more believable than _I screwed over the crew to save a merman_.

A flash of maroon scales registered in his peripheral vision and he looked out at the water.

The merman's head was sticking out of the water about thirty yards out. He was floating, calm as can be, just staring at him. Bucky stared back.

The sun crept further behind the horizon. The merman slid underneath the water.

Bucky rushed forward and yelled, “Wait!”

The large, fanned tail arced over the water and then the merman was upright again. He looked expectant, maybe a little impatient.

Bucky kicked off his shoes and hastily pulled off his socks, then warily waded into the shallow water. The merman eyed him suspiciously, and Bucky stopped when the water was at his hips. He held up his empty hands. After a brief hesitation, the merman swam closer.

To Bucky's shock and delight, the merman came closer and closer until they were only a foot away from one another, face-to-face.

He was... _handsome_.

He had a defined jaw, a strong chin, dark brown skin, and laughter lines around his eyes to accompany the frown lines along his mouth. He smiled, suddenly, giving Bucky a perfect view of two rows of serrated teeth. Bucky awkwardly smiled back.

Carefully, the merman reached out and brushed a finger along the edge of the bandage over Bucky's nose, tilting his head.

“Oh, that. Well, uh. One of the crew wasn't happy about what I did, so he-” he knocked a fist into the open palm of his left hand with a soft _smack_. The merman frowned. “What about you? The net didn't get you too bad, did it?”

The merman bobbed down into the water so he could curl his tail up over the surface. Up close, Bucky could see very small rakes along the deep red scales. The merman bobbed back up again, and it was Bucky's turn to frown. The merman's expression softened, and he held up a hand, palm open. Bucky stared at it a moment, then slowly lifted his hand to mirror it. The merman gently pushed their palms together.

“This isn't some weird Vulcan thing, is it?”

The merman furrowed his brow, but they flinched apart when suddenly there was a distant yell of, “ _Buck-y!_ ”

Bucky turned towards the direction of the yell but turned back when there was a large splash. The only sign of the merman were the ripples in the water he left behind. “ _Bucky!_ ”

“Steve!” he hollered back. He could see a tiny silhouette standing on the pier, now running over to lean over the railing. “You'll _never_ guess how shit my day was!”

–

Two weeks later, he was out at sea again with the crew of the _Salty Siren_ and its new net and pulleys. The only members who gave him an _ounce_ of slack were Billy and Dum Dum, and Bucky could only think that it was fair. So what that he had to do most of the heavy lifting?

They found a large school and made the best haul since Bucky signed on. When they returned to port, the fish went for a hearty price, and the new equipment managed to pay itself off.

Bucky went home that night with a big fish.

The next day, on a whim, he returned to the water beneath the pier as the sun was setting. He took his shoes and socks off again and waded into the water. After a few minutes, a head peeked out of the water a ways off.

Bucky smiled. The merman approached again, and this time, Bucky held out his hand. The merman eyeballed it, then grasped it. Bucky shook them gently. “This is usually how humans greet each other.”

The merman looked up from their hands to his face with a furrowed brow and a quirk to his mouth that said _You're weird_.

“My name's Bucky, by the way. You might have caught that last time.”

The merman took Bucky's hand and wrapped it around his own throat. Bucky was alarmed, initially, but then the merman croaked a little. He couldn't say anything like a human could, but Bucky could tell his was trying to form syllables. _Ro. Dee._

“Rhodey?”

The merman – Rhodey – smiled, nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations.

–

Their meetings continued like this:

Bucky would go out to sea, catch fish, and return to sell the fish. He'd eat his fish dinner with Steve, make another payment on their loans, then go to his spot beneath the pier at sunset to meet his... merman friend.

On their third meeting, Bucky asked, “Why'd you get so close to the net that day?”

Rhodey made a face, then looked down at the water. He seemed to be debating something. Then, he pointed at himself before using his other hand to point up at the pier. He gestured vaguely at Bucky and shrugged.

“You... got close to the net because of Steve?”

Rhodey grimaced. Bucky tried his best to keep a straight face, but a bubble of laughter escaped anyway.

“I'm joking. But- you got close to the net because of a friend?” Rhodey nodded. “Was that friend a fish?” Rhodey tilted his head and squinted, then shook his head. He briefly flicked his tail above the surface. “Oh. Another mer...person?” He nodded. “Mermaid or merman?” He held up two fingers. Bucky huffed, incredulous. “Then what the hell was _he_ doing?”

Rhodey gestured _I see_ then waved his arm at the city, then at the boats along the pier, then at Bucky. Then he pointed at his head, and made some kind of exploding gesture.

Bucky smirked. “Reminds me of the Little Mermaid.” Again, Rhodey tilted his head and squinted, but Bucky waved him off.

–

The fourth time they met, Bucky brought a book. He didn't dare bring it with him into the water, so instead he sat down in the sand and propped it open on his knees. Rhodey cautiously swam into the shallows before dragging himself onto the shore to sit beside him.

“This has the story I was telling you about,” Bucky explained. He displayed the cover: _Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen_. Rhodey reached out to trail a finger around the cover. “The Little Mermaid isn't very long. Would you like to hear it?”

With an amused smile, Rhodey nodded.

Bucky read the Little Mermaid in its entirety, telling about the mermaid's family and her journey to the surface, falling in love with the prince, making the deal with the sea witch, dancing on broken feet, and watching the prince marry another before throwing herself into the sea to dissolve into foam.

When he looked up at Rhodey, he saw an expression of complete and utter disgust. He started laughing and closed the book. “I take it that's not how things are?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and mimed gagging. Bucky laughed harder.

–

The fifth time they met, Bucky brought his swim trunks. A good thing, too, because Rhodey had a surprise for him.

Bucky pulled off his clothes and left them neatly folded on top of his shoes before wading out and diving in. Rhodey came up beside him when he rose for air, and presented to him a handful of raw fish.

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Uh...”

Rhodey put his free hand on his shoulder and gave him a placating look that said _Trust me_. After a second's pause, Bucky took the fish and quickly popped it into his mouth. He almost spat it out, but managed to swallow it.

Rhodey roughly pulled him under and began dragging him out to deeper water.

Bucky did not have any time to take a breath before he was pulled under, and his panic wasn't helping him. He could feel his chest constricting as his lungs demanded air, and all he could do was wildly grasp at the merman, who continued dragging him out to the deep.

When his lungs couldn't take it anymore, he gasped what was sure to be a fatal lungful of water.

Instead, he found himself breathing air as if he were still on the streets above.

When Rhodey finally slowed to a stop, he held Bucky close and gestured around them with a wide, toothy grin. Bucky followed the direction of his arm and dropped his jaw in awe.

All around them, there were fish. Silver fish. Blue fish. Yellow fish. Striped fish, polka-dot fish, spiny fish. A manta-ray glided through the water like an eagle in the distance; on the other side, a seal punched a hole through a school like a bullet. Rhodey gently pulled him away from a lion fish.

Every creature was breath-takingly gorgeous in their blue kingdom. Bucky looked up and gazed in wonder at the fluid silhouettes that passed under the rippling waves of white gold on the surface above.

Eventually, Rhodey hauled him back up to the surface. Bucky grasped at his arms tightly and panted, “ _Thank you_.” Rhodey pressed his forehead to his and squeezed his shoulders with a self-satisfied smile.

–

A year of meetings passed – joyous meetings of jokes and laughter, mime and tricks, and petty splash matches. Sometimes Rhodey dragged himself up onto the sand and together they'd lay on their backs and simply stare up at the pier in companionable silence. Other times Bucky would swim out into the water and they'd race or splash each other (Rhodey always won). There was also a particularly memorable time when Bucky brought a boombox and they listened to hits of the 80s.

It was on their last meeting, when they stayed out in the water together after the sun set and the moon rose, that Bucky looked at Rhodey with his sharp-toothed smile and warm brown eyes that reflected the moonlight and felt the urge to kiss him.

Rhodey leaned against a support-beam and raised an eyebrow. Bucky glanced down at his lips, once, and he noticed.

Rhodey pushed off from the beam and glided over to him, then put his hands on his shoulders to steady himself. Bucky started blushing, knew that he was blushing, got embarrassed about it, then blushed harder. He was glad it was night.

Rhodey gave his shoulders a brief squeeze and brushed his tail against his foot. Bucky focused again. Rhodey's face looked half amused, half concerned.

Bucky saw his eyes flicker down to his lips and gained a sudden burst of confidence. Throwing all caution to the wind, he trailed his thumb along Rhodey's bottom lip before leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss tasted of sea salt and ozone.

–

“I don't like the fuckin' looks of that shit.”

“You don't like the looks of anything, Smiley.”

Peterson turned to Bucky, and for the first time since he knew the man, Bucky saw a flicker of fear.

Peterson turned back to look at the dark clouds flickering on the horizon. There was a solid wall of gray beneath them. The ocean had become restless hours ago.

Billy rubbed his palm against his pants. “We'll beat it to shore.”

Peterson pushed himself away from the rail and stalked off, snapping, “You don't know that.”

Billy came up beside Bucky and clapped a heavy hand on his back. “Don't let him get you worked up. The captain knows what he's doing.”

Bucky slowly nodded. Billy returned to his work, and Bucky went back to staring at the choppy waters.

After an hour or so, as the swells grew in size and the whole crew could see the clouds barreling towards them, Mark made his way quickly across the deck and inside. All the seasoned fishermen were quiet and skittish. Bucky left the railing and started coiling and uncoiling rope, just to have something to do with his hands.

A crack of thunder boomed and the sky flashed as the _Salty Siren_ bobbed up and over a particularly large swell. Mark came out from inside and heaved a sigh of relief. A moment later, the boat began turning back towards port and the engines rose from a hum to a growl. The entire crew relaxed a little.

Bucky looked up from his rope as the sky flashed and the thunder rolled again. The clouds were moving so fast you could see them tumble forwards. A wave splashed suddenly against the side of the boat with a bang and slithered through the port-holes. It began to rain.

Lightning forked from the clouds to the sea and thunder cracked loud enough to rattle his bones. Bucky hurried across the deck and inside to the steering wheel and Dum Dum, who was peering warily at the sky and frowning.

“What's the situation out there, Junior?”

Bucky grimaced. “Choppy. Nervous.”

The rain came down harder and they could see the crew pull up their hoods. The _Salty Siren_ 's bow rose up, then splashed down. Dum Dum took a deep breath. “Tell them to close all the ports and windows and tie everything down.” Bucky nodded briefly, then went back outside.

Thirty minutes passed, and the sea went from bad to Hell.

The sky was so dark it may well have been night, and the ship's lights did nothing against the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed all around them like a sparkler, the thunder was a constant rumble, and the waves grew from ten feet to twenty feet to forty feet. Water was constantly streaming across the deck and through the port-holes.

The entire crew was inside, now, after a mad dash to carry out Dum Dum's orders. Most were below deck, fiddling their thumbs and holding down knick-knacks and silverware as the ship rolled. Billy and Bucky were up beside Dum Dum, listening uneasily to the gravelly voice of the weather warning system over the radio. Everyone was wearing their life-jackets.

Lightning flashed to reveal the convulsing sea, then everything went dark. It flashed again, and right in front of them was a giant, horrific, monstrous wave.

“ _Fuck._ ”

–

Everything happened very quickly.

Bucky rushed out into the hallway and yelled for everyone to hold on. The moment he finished his sentence, the _Salty Siren_ tilted up vertically and shuddered; furniture and men both went tumbling towards the stern. The lights flickered.

Eventually the ship was thrown back into the sea – upside down. The lights flared brilliantly then popped, sparking, as the glass windows of the ship fractured. The crew began screaming and scrambling towards the doors - “ _Abandon ship!_ ” – but then another wave crashed down onto them, shattering the windows and crumpling it inwards as water poured in.

Bucky couldn't see anything, and the only things he could hear were the roar of the ocean and the screams of his crew-mates. He blinked and tried to orient himself – _where the hell was the door?_ – and, after deciding to follow the gravelly bellows of Peterson, he tried to stumble after them all.

White hot agony shot through his left arm and into his side and he cried out. The voices of his crew-mates were getting farther away as the roar of the water got louder. He felt around blindly down his arm until he felt a pipe – another stab of pain electrified him when he touched it – coated in warm, thick liquid. Carefully, he felt around the pipe and only felt his arm. He waved his foot around and managed to follow the pipe down and into the wall.

A pipe speared him into a wall and he couldn't see and the water was to his thighs and he was going to _die_.

“ _Help!_ ” he screamed. “ _Help! Someone! Please!_ ” But it was too late; he couldn't hear anyone's voices anymore, and now water was pouring in through the doors. Bucky frantically wondered if the ship was sinking.

He needed to get out _now_.

He reached down with his right hand and pulled his father's army-knife out of his boot. He pressed the blade against the muscle of his arm, closed his eyes, allowed himself to hyperventilate for a handful of seconds, held his breath, forced himself to deeply inhale, then started cutting.

Excruciating didn't come anywhere close to being an adequate description. Despite his surroundings being pitch black, white flashes shot through his vision. The only thing he could possibly think was _faster_.

Eventually he heard the blade of his knife hit the metal wall. He dived forward and began swimming, but he had no idea where he was. He had no idea where the doors were. The water was up to his neck; he gulped a lungful of air, and in a matter of seconds, there wasn't any left.

He tried swimming the perimeter, feeling around for any opening. All of his panic felt far away and muffled. Everything else was instinct.

Another flash of white blinked across his vision, then he felt hands on him. He was pulled, and then, suddenly, light.

It was faint, barely enough to see by, but it was enough to see Rhodey.

He was swimming quickly towards the surface; Bucky looked behind him and saw the _Salty Siren_ slip into the murky depths. He looked back up towards the surface, but it felt so very far away, and his chest was so tight... and his arm-

He gasped a lungful of salt-water and started dying.

The last thing he saw was Rhodey's panicked expression, cradling his face, and pressing his mouth to his.

–

.

.

.

–

When Bucky woke up, the ocean was calm and sunlight danced across the surface. Fish swam lazily in his peripheral vision. He looked left at his arm and found the stump bound tightly. He looked down the length of his body and found that one: he was naked, and two: instead of legs, he had a large silver fish-tail.

He looked to his right, and saw Rhodey hovering beside him, arms crossed and looking dead-tired.

Bucky took a deep breath, felt water filter through gills, and rasped, “Hey.”

Rhodey slowly relaxed and unfolded his arms. His smile felt like a gift. “Promise me something? Don't ever pull that shit again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This couldn't be a trope compilation without at least one mer fic, right?
> 
> Also: I hope you all know that I _do_ see and greatly appreciate every comment. Thank you. And even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoy these.


	24. Day 24 - Mistletoe

Christmas Eve in Avengers Tower was a whirlwind of reds and greens and whites, miles of Christmas lights, a small army of animatronics, and the constant background noise of some song about Santa Claus or snow.

Every Avenger was dressed in their holiday best (meaning either suits and dresses or ugly sweaters) in the main living room in the penthouse, spread throughout the entire floor on various pieces of furniture, eating and drinking and talking – and traveling in packs of three or more, all due to the fact that _someone_ launched a small drone with mistletoe attached to it which would zoom to any pair of two people who separated from the herd.

The drone caught its first victims after two hours – Thor and Clint, due to the fact that Thor was leaving to get more chip salsa while Clint was entering through the door, late and covered in band-aids.

Clint had glanced up at the drone, shrugged, then closed his eyes and puckered his lips. Thor looked up, chuckled heartily, rumbled, “I always wanted to try this custom,” then dipped Clint and kissed him full on the mouth. When Clint came back up, he was bug-eyed and smiling ecstatically. He kept winking at Thor for the rest of the night.

Thor, after Tony kept sporadically drifting in his direction and being caught with Steve and Dr. Ross, had cinched himself to Jane's hip and refused to leave her side for the rest of the evening. Jane, for her part, was recovering from an aching face to due to grinning too hard.

Rhodey, who was a member of Steve's and Sam's protective trio by the kitchen counter, couldn't help but glance across the room towards the group sprawled across the couch, of which Bucky was a member.

Bucky, on the other end, would glance towards Rhodey and purse his lips before studiously sipping his apple cider.

Tony vaulted over the back of the couch, barely stuck the landing, then flopped down into the seat beside him, casually crossing his arms behind his head. “ _So_...”

Bucky crossed his legs and took another drink of apple cider.

Tony forged on. “You have any thoughts on doing something special for Christmas?”

Bucky turned towards him. “Not really.”

“No going on romantic skating dates with a special someone?”

Tony earned himself a raised eyebrow. “Special someone?”

“Yeah. Y'know. As in, if there's someone here you _like_...” Bucky squinted at him.

On the other end of the room, Natasha leaped up and sat on the counter between Rhodey and Steve. She reached over and casually plucked a roll off of Steve's plate, then took a large bite. Steve side-eyed her, and while he was distracted Sam took a piece of turkey.

After Natasha swallowed, she swung around on the counter and smiled at Rhodey. “I see you making eyes at Bucky, Rhodes.”

Rhodey was prepared for it. “I am merely concerned,” he said primly. “He was in medical not _two weeks_ ago and I'm still worried.”

Sam leaned out from behind Steve. “You sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he was in medical because he _saved_ your _life_?”

Natasha added, “It's not every day someone takes on a whole squadron to protect you while you're unconscious.”

Steve smirked. “After you took a _grenade_ for him.”

The mistletoe drone continued flitting across the room like a dragonfly, waiting for any sign of two unsuspecting victims. It passed over Pepper as she perched on the arm of the couch while Tony finished a long spiel. “. . . you gotta treat yourself, explore new horizons, take a chance!”

“He wants to know if you're going to ask Rhodey out,” Pepper explained. Bucky blinked at her. Slowly, he leaned forward and set his now-empty glass on the coffee table. He leaned back and clasped his hands, businesslike, on his lap. Tony snapped back into his easy smiling persona after mouthing and gesturing frantically at Pepper. After a length of silence, she continued, “I think you should go for it.”

“What,” Bucky began, “could possibly make you two think that Rhodey and I should date?”

“ _Oh_...” Tony drawled, raising a hand to count things off, “just the fact that you two have your own corner of the Quinjet, you're basically the team dads, that you have your own little complaining club, that you finish each other's sentences, and oh, I dunno, you romantically _saved each other's lives_ two weeks ago?”

Bucky gaped for a second before countering, “Since when is saving someone's life romantic?”

Pepper smirked. “Since always.”

“Well! – you're wrong. Anything I would do for Rhodey I would do for-”

Back at the counter: “-anyone on this team.”

At the exact same moment, Natasha, Steve, and Sam started doing some form of eyebrow wiggling. Rhodey spun away from them all and smacked his palm against the counter while hissing, “ _Jesus Christ._ ”

“Come on, man,” Sam goaded. “It wouldn't hurt to ask.”

“Of _course it would hurt to ask_.”

Natasha took the last piece of turkey off of Steve's plate. “What makes you think that?” As she lifted it to her mouth, Steve snatched it back and she smacked his wrist.

Rhodey slid off the stool and turned to face them, shrugging incredulously. “Well, I don't know if he's even interested, I don't know if he wants to, I don't know if things would get weird if I _did_ ask, I don't know if he _likes_ me-”

Natasha waved him off while Sam drawled “ _Nah_ ” and Steve pursed his lips, innocently looking away.

On the other side of the room, Tony barked out a laugh. Bucky sighed as Clint leaned over the back of the couch and volunteered, “Rhodey _really_ likes you, y'know.”

Bucky got up and away from the cocoon of people by sitting on the coffee table instead. Clint happily slithered into his vacant spot. Bucky glowered at the three of them. “What do you three get out of this? Is this some kind of bet?”

Tony raised his hands and muttered, “I can neither confirm nor deny those claims” while Clint grinned and Pepper grimaced. At that point, Bucky grabbed a handful of cookies, stood up, flipped them the bird, and headed for the door.

Over at the counter, Steve hinted, “That's funny. The last time I saw Buck this smitten was in the summer of '36.”

Rhodey's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Smitten, huh? Smitten? How is he smitten?”

Steve shifted his weight, delicately rested an elbow on the counter, and in his Captain America voice suggested, “Why don't you ask him yourself?”

Rhodey shook his head. “I've had enough of this.” He began to head for the door, still giving the three of them his best disapproving look, when he ran directly into Bucky.

The drone's propellers spun into a frenzy as it zipped towards them.

Bucky and Rhodey shared one quick look of mutual mortification before they sprinted for the door. They reached it less than a second before the drone did and slammed it shut; the drone bounced off of it with a dull _thump_.

In the hallway to the elevator, they both chuckled nervously. Rhodey straightened up and huffed, “ _Fuck_ that drone.”

Bucky grinned. “The entire time I wanted to snatch it out of the air and snap it in half.”

“Amen to that.” They stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do or say. Rhodey crossed his arms and rocked back onto his heels. “You want to get away from the party and watch Home Alone on my floor?”

Bucky hesitated. He looked down at the floor and bit his lip – Rhodey's eyes followed, then quickly looked away – before nodding. He shrugged. “Got nothing better to do.”

The elevator ride down, short as it was, was completely silent. Bucky slowly bit into a cookie, felt rude, then offered the handful to Rhodey. Rhodey took two. From there they were able to defend their silence with full mouths.

When the elevator doors opened, they started walking towards Rhodey's living-room through the kitchen, but Bucky slowed to a stop in the arched doorway that led to it. Rhodey looked over his shoulder, stopped walking, then slowly walked back.

“Something up?” he prompted.

Bucky bit his bottom lip again (Rhodey wished he would stop). “I'm just... wondering about something.”

Rhodey quirked a brow, then leaned against the archway and crossed his arms. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Uh. Okay. What are we?”

Rhodey didn't hesitate. “Friends.”

Bucky shifted anxiously from foot to foot. “You think you could feel... something... different?”

Rhodey stiffened. “...Teammates?” he hazarded, hiding the hurt in his voice.

Bucky inhaled slowly and wrung his hands, once. “Yeah, that, but...”

Rhodey's voice was subdued. “Okay.”

Bucky, catching on, blurted, “ _No!_ I was- no, I was wondering, ah, shit, uh, well- you know that I like you, right?”

Rhodey slowly nodded. “Uh-huh. I like you too.”

“But, uh... I like spending time with you. And talking with you.”

Rhodey slowly nodded. “Uh-huh. Same here.”

“And... would you ever...” he hesitated “ _consider_ dating me?”

Rhodey licked his lips and swallowed, hard. “Is this a theoretical question?”

Bucky's face twisted and he fisted his hands into Rhodey's garish sweater, hauling him closer. Rhodey planted his hands on his waist and stared. Bucky stared back. The hairs on the backs of their necks stood up, their breath puffed across each other's faces, and suddenly Rhodey, as if pulled by gravity, leaned forward and kissed him.

Bucky shivered, then chased the kiss when Rhodey started moving away. His grip relaxed in Rhodey's sweater and slid around to his back. They kissed a few beats longer, enjoying the _zing_ of it, nipping a bit in playful exploration, then broke apart. Rhodey slumped back against the arch and Bucky stared intently at his chest.

Rhodey's head lulled backwards as he caught his breath. Then he moaned, “Oh my God.”

“It wasn't _that_ good, was it?'

Rhodey huffed a laugh. “No, look up.” Bucky did, and a single sprig of mistletoe hung innocently above them. “I totally forgot I put that up.”

“ _Why_ would you put that up?”

“Because it's _festive_. I'm a _festive person_.”

Bucky smiled and rolled his eyes before reeling Rhodey back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas fic in April. No time's too soon, right?


	25. Day 25 - High School AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside his room, Rhodey felt a sort of melancholy that could only be produced from the distinct feeling of restless boredom. He wasn't interested in playing any video games, he had no homework, and nothing was on TV.
> 
> After five minutes of staring at his ceiling and seriously contemplating going back outside to help his dad, he remembered, _Also, here's my number. Maybe we can hang out some time._

Rhodey rotated between tapping anxiously on the restaurant table, jiggling his leg, glancing at the clock, and staring into his glass of water like it held the secret as to why his date was running late.

Forty minutes late.

A woman had been seated after him, ordered, been served, ate, paid her bill, and left in the time that he spent waiting. A table of old men kept glancing at him occasionally with pity frowns. When they finished and rose to leave, one of them clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and murmured, “I don't think she's coming, son.”

A little later, the waiter drifted over to his table for the thirteenth time with an apologetic smile. Some kid from school. A popular kid, Rhodey knew that much, so he'd probably spread this all over school and turn him into the local laughing stock for a billion years.

His name-tag read _Welcome to Perfetto Italiano! My name is: Bucky._ “Feel like ordering yet?”

Rhodey stared morosely up at him instead of at his untouched menu. The guy had perfect brown hair, a perfect smile, a perfect face. He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. Nobody would ever stand _him_ up on a date. You'd never find _him_ made the fool in some tacky Italian joint wearing his best suit. Rhodey looked away and monotoned, “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

The guy's shoulders relaxed a little. “You want any sides? Soda?”

_Please go away._ “No thanks.”

“Comin' right up.” The guy left. Rhodey stared into the abyss of his water. Someone set a plate of spaghetti in front of him, and he sat back in his seat, startled. “Spaghetti and meatballs,” said the guy, smiling apologetically. Still. Surely he had to have more smiles. Also, had that much time really passed? “I'll go get a pitcher to refill your water, I'll be right back,” and then he was gone again before Rhodey could muster another _No thanks_.

Rhodey started in on his spaghetti. Soon enough, the guy came back and refilled his water. They smile-grimaced at each other for a second, then the guy left. Rhodey went back to his spaghetti.

When the plate was clean and the glass was empty, the waiter came back with a slip of paper; but it wasn't the bill. It was a telephone number. Rhodey blinked at it, then looked at the guy.

The guy smiled at him and, finally, it wasn't apologetic. Instead it looked... _what?_ “Hey, don't worry about the bill, okay? It's on the house. The manager okay-ed it. Also, here's my number. Maybe we can hang out some time.” A man at a nearby table loudly cleared his throat, and the guy flinched; he backed away, winked, then whisked off to serve Asshole Guy.

Rhodey stared at the piece of paper in his hand and wondered what the hell happened.

–

Tony Stark wasn't... the _best_ person to unburden yourself to. Mostly, he fidgeted uncomfortably throughout your soliloquy and did whatever he could with his hands. Then, when you were done talking, he'd buy you a present or give you money or take you someplace to forget your troubles, which was better than nothing.

So, the next morning, Rhodey stood by his locker and waited for Tony to show up.

Tony and Rhodey had hit it off as soon as they met each other. Mostly because they were the only kids to have skipped grades – one, in Rhodey's case, and two in Tony's – making them the youngest Juniors at sixteen and fifteen, respectively.

The only thing people wanted to talk to Tony about was his father, which automatically made him hate all of them, and nobody wanted to talk to Rhodey when Tony Stark was standing next to him. When Tony Stark wasn't standing next to him, he was just That Weird Smart Black Kid To Be Avoided At All Costs. Therefore, Tony and Rhodey were inseparable brothers-in-arms on the battlefield that was Remarkable High School.

Two minutes before the first bell rang, Tony strolled inside, scanned the halls, spotted Rhodey, and began mozying up to him while casually whipping off his sunglasses to reveal all of his acne-faced, greasy-haired, meme-T-shirt-wearing glory.

“What's up, honey-bun?”

“You know Helen?” Tony's expression was completely blank. Rhodey sighed. “The sophomore girl who asked me out?”

“Oh, that Helen! Oh, yeah, dude, how'd ya score?”

“Like, negative a thousand, probably.” Tony balked. “You wanna know why? I'll tell you why. 'Cause she stood me up's why.”

“Oh that _bitch_.”

“Swear.”

“I'll put a fucking nickel in the shitty jar later, she deserves it.”

“No she _doesn_ -”

“ _Shh!_ ” Tony clapped a hand over Rhodey's mouth and pointed down the hall towards the gymnasium. “There she is!” Tony glowered at her, holding hands and laughing at something Brock Rumlow said, hoping to send all of his disapproval down the hall and into her soul, before turning back. Rhodey was hiding behind his locker door. Tony banged on it, making it rattle. Rhodey flinched away from it. “Still think she doesn't deserve to be called a bitch? I just saw her hanging off of Brock Fucking Rumlow.”

Rhodey gaped over his shoulder, saw them turn a corner, then felt his insides crumple. “She'd ditch me for _that guy_?”

Brock Rumlow was famous for terrorizing everyone who didn't think the sun shone out of his ass and getting away with it because his father was chairman of the school-board.

“Nah, man, see, she doesn't deserve you.” The bell rang; they locked up their lockers and started walking. “Anyone who laughs at Brock's jokes doesn't deserve a _goldfish_ , let's be real here.”

“Well...” Rhodey frowned. “Okay.”

“So what that she's the only girl who's ever asked you out in the history of ever? Who needs girls when you have _money_.”

“ _You_ have money, Tony, not me, and the only reason why you're not dating is because they keep mentioning-”

“Yeah, guilty, you got me.”

Rhodey considered for a moment, then said, “The waiter gave me his-”

“Oop, here's my stop, we'll continue fourth hour!” And just like that, Tony was gone into woodshop, leaving Rhodey with a horrible mixture of bitter rejection and queasy excitement.

–

Fourth hour, in physics, they finally reunited; Rhodey opened his mouth and managed to say, “So anyway, the waiter was-” when Ms. Hill turned a piercing glare on him and made his mouth snap shut with a murmured, “Sorry, ma'am.”

After class, in the hall, he blurted, “The waiter gave me his-” when Mr. Coulson appeared around the corner, gave them a cool smile, then politely asked to borrow Tony. Tony smiled and shrugged, then followed the councilor back to his office.

Rhodey sighed. There was only one hour left before class let out for the weekend, and out of all of his classes, it was the only one he shared with the waiter... guy... what was his name again?

Inside the boys' locker room, instead of getting himself into his tank-top and gym shorts and getting out, he discreetly cased the room. All the other boys were changing, chatting, and laughing. On the other side of the room was Waiter Guy, watching Clint Barton sign something. He snorted, then signed something back. All while shirtless. With perfect goddamn muscles.

Not that Rhodey wasn't something to shake a stick at, either. He was a wide receiver on the school football team and training up for Air Force ROTC. He could bench-press Tony. If he wanted.

The only reason why Rhodey didn't know the guy was because they never crossed paths except for seventh hour – Rhodey was a creature of football, Clint Barton was the star player of the archery team, which was how Rhodey knew who he was, which meant Waiter Guy must have been... _somewhere_... on the sports roster.

Back in the gym (Waiter Guy was no longer shirtless), Rhodey kept staring at him until the guy turned his head and made eye contact. Rhodey almost dropped dead right then and there. Rhodey hazarded a wave, and the guy smiled, and _Oh, no, oh no no no no_ fuck.

Rhodey could _not_ develop a crush on the guy.

When school let out, Tony was still nowhere to be found. Rhodey walked across the parking lot to his dad's car, stewing over the slip of paper hidden in his night-stand.

Mr. Rhodes turned and grinned at him as he dumped his backpack in the back-seat. “Good day?” Rhodey slumped into the front passenger seat and sighed. Mr. Rhodes frowned, quirked his mouth like he was thinking, brightened, then said, “Hey, it's spring break. It'll be all right.” He gently punched him in the shoulder, then started the car.

–

_Tony? Where are you?-_

_-dads taking me to malibu :(_

_Really? Just like that?-_

_-i tried to fight him but u kno how that goes_

_Oh-_

_-sry abt movie night :(_

_It's ok I can make new plans-_

Rhodey flopped onto his back, bouncing on his mattress, and whined at the ceiling.

–

By Sunday afternoon, Rhodey was bored out of his skull.

Mr. Rhodes had decided that his son's hardships opened an opportunity for bonding, so they were both in the backyard, spreading bags of mulch around the garden and making small-talk.

“Nice day, isn't it, Jim?”

“Mhmm.”

“God, sixty-six degrees, it's been a while.”

“Mhmm.”

“I can't wait for the flowers to grow.”

“Mhmm.”

Mr. Rhodes set his bag of mulch down on the ground, straightened up, and put his hands on his hips. He squinted at Rhodey through his glasses. “Do you not like doing this, son?”

Rhodey froze in the process of shaking mulch into a corner. “Um.”

Mr. Rhodes sighed and scuffed his boot across the mulch. “Just like your ma.” He looked up with a rueful smile and said, “You can go inside, Jim. I can handle the garden by myself.”

Rhodey set the bag of mulch down and mildly started to panic. “No, Dad, I like it! I-”

“I can tell you loathe all of this, boy, don't piss in my ear and tell me it's raining.” A giggle bubbled out of Rhodey. Mr. Rhodes grinned. “Go on inside. I can take some manual labor.”

“You sure?”

“You calling me senile?”

Rhodey huffed a laugh and mumbled, “Sometimes.” He walked over and hugged his dad, anyway. Mr. Rhodes gave him a tight squeeze, then shooed him in the direction of the house.

–

Inside his room, Rhodey felt a sort of melancholy that could only be produced from the distinct feeling of restless boredom. He wasn't interested in playing any video games, he had no homework, and nothing was on TV.

After five minutes of staring at his ceiling and seriously contemplating going back outside to help his dad, he remembered, _Also, here's my number. Maybe we can hang out some time._

Rhodey slowly turned his head towards his night-stand and bit his lip.

Next thing he knew, the slip of paper was in his hand and he was dialing it on his smartphone.

Four rings, then a cautious, _“Hello?”_

“Uh, hi.”

“ _Who is this?”_

“Um... I got- I was- you were my waiter at Perfetto Italiano?”

“ _Wait... are you the guy who- are you the one whose dinner I paid for?”_

“Yeah, that'd be me.”

“ _Oh, hey, dude! What's up?”_

“Nothing much. And I _mean_ nothing much. It's spring break and I have nothing to do, so...”

“ _Well, we can't have that, now, can we? Hey, you wanna catch a matinee?”_

“As in... a movie?”

“ _Yeah.”_

“With you?”

“ _No, with my mother. I'm kidding. That was a joke. But – you and me, how about it?”_

“Uh, yeah! Sure! Sounds great!”

“ _Cool! Great! What movie should we see?”_

Every movie showing in theaters vanished from Rhodey's mind. “I have no idea. You choose.”

“ _Uh... okay. How about... 900 Miles?”_

What in the world was 900 Miles? “Sounds great!”

“ _Great! I'll pick up at around 3:30? Will that work?”_

Don't say great. “Fantastic!” A beat, then: “Wait! Do you even know where I live?”

Nervous laughter on the other end of the line. _“Uh, no. Whoops.”_

Rhodey grinned in spite of himself. “Okay, do you have something to write it down on?”

–

At 3:30 PM on the dot, a cherry red Ford Fusion pulled up in front of the Rhodes household and honked twice. Rhodey hurried outside, waved at his dad in the garden – who waved back instead of freaking out, thanks to Rhodey getting permission first, avoiding an awkward confrontation – then approached the car, and yeah, it was the guy alright.

Instead of a restaurant uniform or gym clothes, the guy was wearing a V-neck and jeans. Rhodey was wearing a polo and khakis. It was good enough for a first impression, he supposed.

Well, second impression. Third impression.

Damn.

Rhodey got into the passenger seat and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey. You got everything you need?”

“Yup.”

The guy grinned. “Let's go then.”

He pulled out onto the road, then started taking the route out of the suburbs and into the city. Both of them kept glancing at each other and smiling uncomfortably before looking back at the road.

Rhodey cleared his throat. “So, uh... You have a nice car.”

“This actually isn't my car, it's my mom's. So if you scratch it, I'm dead.”

“No scratches. Got it.”

The city approached and the roads got more and more congested. When he stopped at a stop light, he ventured, “So, this is really embarrassing, but I kinda just now realized I don't know your name?”

Oh, shit. “James. Jim if you want. Rhodey to friends.”

“James.”

“Yup.”

The guy laughed, then started driving at the green light. “No, that's my name. James. Bucky to everyone who doesn't wanna get decked.”

“Huh. There a story behind that?”

“There were too many James and Jims running around, and the only Jimmy I knew stuck gum in my best friend's hair. He had to get it all shaved off. So I go by Bucky to, you know, stand out.”

Rhodey hummed. “Makes sense.” Another couple blocks of silence, then: “You play any sports?”

“Baseball. I'm a pretty good hitter. You?”

“Football.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “Nice.”

“I'm, uh... also captain of the Robotics team.”

Bucky's whole face lit up. “Hey, I'm captain of the Mathletes.”

Rhodey perked up. “No joke?”

“No joke.”

The two boys beamed at each other, smiling smiles of birds finding out they're of a feather.

Five minutes later they were jogging through the doors to the movie-theater, wallets in hand. Bucky turned towards him and flapped a hand, saying, “Put that away.”

“What? No, I can pay for my ticket-”

“Yeah, I know, but it's all on me.”

Rhodey gaped for a second. “You don't have to-”

“Yeah, but I _want_ to, so shut up.”

Rhodey huffed a laugh, incredulous, as Bucky ordered two tickets.

–

900 Miles turned out to be a romance film. A horrifically tragic romance film. It followed two men during the Great Depression who traveled the rails across America, fell in love, got separated, before one inevitably died. It ended with the surviving one sobbing over his lover's body. Roll credits.

“What the _fuck was that?_ ”

Bucky dabbed at his eyes with a napkin as Rhodey threw the popcorn buckets away. “In my defense, I had no idea it would end like that.”

“This is as bad as fucking Brokeback Mountain.”

“The soundtrack was gorgeous though.”

Rhodey sniffled. “True.”

Back at the car, after talking in depth about cinematography and plot structure, Rhodey ventured, “Hey, would you like to get dinner sometime?” Bucky leaned on the car and raised an eyebrow with a small smile, the jaundice-yellow lighting in the dark garage giving him a golden halo. God, he was gorgeous. “Like, on, uh, maybe Wednesday? Six? I'll pay.”

Bucky shook his head and said, “I can p-”

“Please? Consider it me paying you back for Perfetto's.”

Bucky's smile slowly grew. He looked down at the ground, nodded a little, then looked up and tilted his head. “Okay, yeah. I'd like that.”

Rhodey beamed. “Great.”

They got in and buckled up, Bucky turned on the radio, and they drove back to the Rhodes house in happy silence, only interrupted by the occasional comment about the movie. When they reached their destination, they looked at each other, smiling shyly, before Rhodey opened the door to get out. “It's... been fun. Thank you.”

Bucky waved him off. “Any time. Call me whenever, okay? See you at school!”

“See you!” Rhodey shut the door, turned, and began walking up the sidewalk to his house. When he reached the front door, he turned and looked at the tail-lights disappear around the corner.

Rhodey had fallen, and he'd fallen hard.

–

Tuesday, when school was back in session, Rhodey was staring into his locker, racking his brain on what to tell Tony, when he was ambushed.

“Hey!”

Rhodey whirled on his attacker, then saw that it was Bucky, who looked very surprised.

“ _Oh_ my God I am _so sorry_ -”

Bucky started laughing it off. “No, no, no, don't be, it's fine. I just wanted to stop by and say hi.”

“Well... hi!”

“We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yup! Yup! Totally! Can't wait!”

Bucky smiled wider and nodded. “See you in seventh.” He looked over Rhodey's shoulder, smiled and waved, then walked off.

Rhodey warily turned around to find Tony standing there, eye twitching.

“What.”

“I can explain.”

“The fuck.”

“I, uh, um, uh, er, uh-”

“Was that Bucky Barnes?!”

“Look-”

“Are you talking to _Bucky Barnes?!_ ”

“ _What about him?!_ ”

“Nothing, I just know his name. And it's fun to watch you freak out.” Rhodey glowered at Tony and shut his locker. Tony pouted. “Hey, come on. Won't you at least tell me why you two are suddenly talking when he used to never give you a second glance?”

“Remember Helen?”

“Who's Helen?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes then murmured, “She stood me up.” Tony's mouth formed an O. “Bucky was my waiter that night and he paid for my dinner.”

“So, is that what this is? Pity friendship?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Sorry to tell you, buddy, but it's looking like it from here.”

“Yeah, but, he took me to a movie the other day.”

Tony didn't say anything, and Rhodey turned to look at him. Tony was squinting. “What kind of movie?”

Rhodey swallowed. “A romantic one?”

Tony's eyes narrowed further. “900 Miles or My American Pie?”

“Nine... hundred... Miles...?”

Tony's eyes slowly widened in shock and he held his hands to his face. Rhodey mirrored him and went, “What, is that bad?!”

“He's taking you on _pity dates_.”

“What? No, but- What makes you say that?!”

“He buys you dinner, he takes you out to see a movie about sad gay hobos, next he'll be buying you presents – don't you see?! It's all one-sided. Pity dates.”

“But I'm buying him dinner tomorrow.”

“You should drop ou- wha?”

“I offered to buy him dinner tomorrow. And he accepted.”

“'Buy him dinner,' like a, like a, what? A _date_ date?”

Rhodey started wringing his hands. “No? Yeah? I don't _know_ , I don't even know if he's _queer_!”

The bell rang. They started walking.

“Well, sugar plum, I hope this all works out for you.”

–

In both seventh hours, Tuesday and Wednesday, Rhodey found that for the first time in his life he wasn't the last one picked or the first one avoided. Bucky paired up with him instead of Clint, and they spent the hours spotting each other in the weight room, cheering each other on, and sharing the occasional joke. They headed back to the locker room with Bucky's arm slung across Rhodey's shoulders.

Rhodey didn't want to admit it, but he didn't realize how much being passed over hurt until he wasn't anymore.

–

Wednesday, Rhodey texted: _Clarissa's. 6pm. Ask for Rhodes party 2. Dress your best, it's fancy_.

When Mr. Rhodes dropped Rhodey off – “Knock 'em dead, son” “It's dinner, Dad, not a football game” – he waved goodbye, straightened his tie, took a deep breath, then walked inside. The lighting inside was dim, and soft classical music played in the background. The receptionist stood behind a podium in a crisp tux.

“Rhodes, party for two.”

“Very good, sir. Your guest has already arrived.”

The receptionist led him to a table for two, where Bucky was discreetly staring at everything from over the top of his menu. When he saw Rhodey, his eyes widened and he lowered the menu, revealing his suit.

Rhodey took his seat, and a waitress immediately glided over to their table. “How may I serve you this fine evening?”

“I'll have some sparkling cider.”

“And you, sir?”

Bucky licked his lips. “Water'll be fine, thanks.”

When the waitress left, Bucky stared slack-jawed at Rhodey before slowly leaning forward. “ _This_ is paying me back for Perfetto?”

Rhodey grinned. “Maybe that and the movie.”

Bucky stared at him blankly, then shook his head and huffed a quiet laugh. “How can you afford all this?”

“Well, my mom is a colonel in the Air Force and my dad writes articles for Home  & Garden magazine.”

Bucky dragged his hand down his face. “Uh-huh. My dad's the regional bank manager and my mom stays at home.”

“Sounds nice.”

“I have three younger sisters.”

Rhodey winced and made a sympathetic noise; the waitress returned with their drinks, then asked for their orders. Rhodey ordered filet mignon, and Bucky said, “What he's having.” When she left again, Bucky shook his head incredulously and took a drink of water.

Rhodey swallowed, then ventured, “Guess we're even, now, huh?”

Bucky blinked and set his water down. He still looked dazed. “This isn't fair. I don't know how I'm gonna top this.”

Rhodey froze. “Top this?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled. “These are only gonna get better, right?”

“These? What are 'these'?”

“Dates...?”

Rhodey stared, stunned. “These are _dates_?”

The expression on Bucky's face froze. It was like when somebody turned the light out in a store and closed the security gate. His body slowly tensed. “Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no no, you're straight, aren't you?” He lifted a hand delicately to his forehead and looked down. “Oh, I'm so over the line, aren't I?”

Rhodey's panicked words crashed into each other and formed a ball in his throat, preventing him from saying any of them.

“This is so embarrassing,” Bucky murmured. He scooted his chair out and started rising. “I'm sorry, I can leave.”

Rhodey threw his arm out and caught him by the wrist. “Please sit,” he wheezed.

Bucky slowly sat back down.

Rhodey frantically tried to untangle the ball, then managed, in a whisper, “You're queer?”

Bucky looked like a deer in head-lights. Slowly, he nodded.

Despite everything, Rhodey laughed. He laughed again, then relaxed, looked up at the ceiling to bless whoever made this possible, then looked back at Bucky. In the time it took for Rhodey to look at the ceiling, Bucky replaced all of his fear with a grim death-stare.

Rhodey raised a placating hand. “Whoa, no. I just. I thought _you_ were straight and I had this monster c-” he choked on the word.

Bucky slowly smiled and chuckled nervously; he rubbed the back of his neck and flushed a little. “Okay. So. How about we finish this conversation in my car after all of this?”

“Yes. Yep. Good idea.”

Their food came, they ate, Rhodey paid, and they made a beeline for the Fusion.

In the relative safety and privacy of the car, they turned towards one another and took a breath.

Rhodey started first. “So, let me get this straight. You considered both of these dates?”

Bucky was in the shadows, but he was probably blushing. “Whoops.”

“And I didn't.”

“Y'know, apparently not.”

“So, now that we're on the same page...”

“What was that 'monster' thing you had?”

Rhodey's heart skipped a beat. “Huh?”

Bucky smirked. “You said you had a 'monster c-.' What's a monster c-?”

Rhodey crossed his arms and casually looked away. “Monster crush.” Bucky was silent for too long, so Rhodey looked back to find him with his fist in front of his mouth, looking like the cat who got the crème. Rhodey felt his blood rush to his cheeks.

Bucky lowered his fist, pursed his lips, then chuckled, “That makes two of us?”

“Oh thank fuck.”

Bucky barked out a laugh and fit the key in the ignition. “So, just to make it official, uh...”

“You can call me Rhodey. We've reached that point.”

Bucky's grin lit up the car. He turned fully towards him and extended his hand, palm up. “My dear Rhodey. Will you go out with me?”

Rhodey eyed his hand, then cautiously put his hand in it. “Yes.”

Bucky lifted Rhodey's hand to his lips and pressed a brief kiss to his knuckles. “Friday at seven?”

Rhodey chuckled. “Fine by me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the remaining five prompts, I _think_ this will be the last long-ish one until Day 30. I hope you enjoyed it!


	26. Day 26 - Elevator Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The counter read _84_ and the doors popped open with another friendly _ding_.
> 
> The Winter Soldier was standing on the other side.

“Will you at least _consider_ it, Tony?”

“”'Consider' talking to the feds? Yeah, I'll consider it. Consider all the ways it's fucking useless, maybe.”

Rhodey stepped in front of Tony to block his sight from the view out the penthouse windows. Tony wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to make a remark, but Rhodey held up a finger and fixed him with a glare. He waited until Tony met his eyes – with crossed arms and a sneer, maybe – then said, “Look, man. I've been able to pull a whole lot of strings and a whole lot more favors in order to make sure the military wouldn't get in your way. You've been 'privatizing world peace,' and they've let you, instead of declaring you a vigilante at best or a terrorist at worst. But Tony, ever since Washington-”

“Washington? You mean HYDRA? And SHIELD? And the info dump? Where we found out that HYDRA was in basically every single goddamn government branch? _Senator Stern_ , Rhodey, Senator fucking _Stern_!”

Rhodey clenched his jaw. “After the dump, we routed them out, arrested-”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sure that _completely_ solved the problem and that 'Cut off one head blah blah' is just a fun party phrase.”

Tony had that smug 'I win' look on his face that Rhodey hated so much. He closed his eyes, pinched his nose, and took a deep breath. When he lowered his hand and opened his eyes, he said, quietly, “Tony. Everyone's scared. They don't like the idea of people having power that they can't control. I don't know how much longer I can shield you from them. If they start seeing you as a threat, they will _ruin_ you.”

“Not if I ruin them f-”

“ _Tony._ ”

Tony huffed and strode over to his kitchen island. He opened a cupboard, got a mug, slammed the door, violently poured himself a cup of coffee, pulled out a bottle of vodka, poured a bit into the mug, grabbed a spoon, stirred, then took a drink, glowering all the while. Rhodey, having followed him over, idly smoothed out his dress blues. After a little while, Tony seemed to deflate.

“Fine. I'll talk to the feds.” Tony turned to meet his eye. “But only if you're there.”

Rhodey let himself smile a little. “Of course.” He nodded, once, then turned to leave. “Take care.” Tony lifted a hand to see him off.

At the elevator, he got in and pushed the button for the ground-floor. The doors closed with a friendly _ding_ , then he began to descend.

The button for floor 84 began flashing, meaning that the elevator was going to stop to let that person on. Every floor above 75 was reserved either for Tony's living/working space or for the Avengers. Rhodey didn't know if any of the Avengers were visiting or not, but he remembered listening to Tony's excited rambling about the spaces he was designing in – he smirked – Avengers Tower.

Eighty-four... eighty-four... R...? Romanoff? No, SR – Steve Rogers.

The floor-counter read _86_. Maybe it would be nice to see Steve. He had only met the man once or twice, but he seemed very competent, very respectful, and not at all like the caricature Captain America that plagued his childhood. Perhaps he'd even ask a few questions.

The counter read _84_ and the doors popped open with another friendly _ding_.

The Winter Soldier was standing on the other side.

Rhodey schooled himself into showing no outward reaction, even though his heart started pounding and he felt a flood of adrenaline. Carefully, he dragged his eyes away from the eye-contact he made with the Soldier – looking nothing like all the news footage of the causeway attack, swapping body-armor and a mask for a hoodie and jeans, although his hair was still hanging around his face – and stared at the _Elevator Safety_ template. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Soldier push the button for floor 76.

The armory.

JARVIS's voice chimed, “ _Apologies, Sir, but you do not have clearance for that floor._ ”

Beside him, the Soldier slowly inhaled, then gently let it out, before turning to look directly at the elevator camera.

Rhodey quickly went over everything he knew. The day of the info-dump, he pulled an all-nighter for two straight days before passing out, then stayed up late another three in order to read everything, taking note of the hows and whys, who was HYDRA, who wasn't, and what to fix. At one point he read the Winter Soldier files – only two pages of coded Times New Roman in 12pt font, detailing exactly one assassination and some kind of package shipment, table scraps – and then came across a conspiracy blog with an article called “WINTER SOLDIER IDENTIFIED.”

It was an extremely long and elaborate case file with a wide range of sources, from creepypasta to hacked KGB files.

The author showed side-by-side comparisons of alleged videos and pictures of the Winter Soldier to old war photos of Sergeant Bucky Barnes. The only thing that was convincing about it was the last piece; there was a witness sketch that was done in 1964. Beside it was an obscure photograph of Sergeant Barnes sitting on a cot in the medical tent, immediately after returning from the three-day walk from the HYDRA POW camp. They were disturbingly similar.

Now, standing two feet away from the man, Rhodey could see clear as day that his face was the same as the one that stared up at him from his history textbook. He felt a strange sensation of vertigo, remembering the moment he vowed to kill the motherfucker when he watched the news chopper footage of him shooting up Washington.

He never liked jumping to conclusions, but he didn't have much choice; the Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes was on Steve's floor. Steve was either here or not here. It was extremely unlikely that he was killed, because JARVIS would have known. Furthermore, JARVIS said 'you do not have clearance.' That meant he had a clearance-approval plan. Which meant that Tony knew about this. Which meant that Tony purposefully didn't tell him he was harboring a terrorist.

He blinked. He was also a Colonel in the United States Air Force, a branch of the military, an arm of the government, which wanted the Winter Soldier brought in to “ _custody_.”

It _might_ have made sense. But Rhodey still felt betrayed.

The Winter Soldier – the concepts of the man beside him and Bucky Barnes didn't match up – pushed the button for floor 77. The elevator doors closed. _Ding_.

Rhodey waited until the counter read 79 before he pushed the emergency button. They stopped in-between 79 and 78. “JARVIS, don't sound the alarm. Override 7843.”

“ _As you wish, but I advise against this, Sir.”_

“Noted.” He turned towards the Soldier, who was simply staring at him. He couldn't read him worth a damn. “Okay. Why did you want to go to floor 76?”

The Soldier narrowed his eyes slightly. Rhodey stared him down. Nothing was said.

After it was clear he wasn't going to get an answer, Rhodey tried, “My name is Colonel James Rhodes. I'm a friend of Tony's. Would you mind telling me what you're doing?”

The Soldier's eyes flickered down to the eagle pin on his lapel before looking back up to his face. “HYDRA is in the building.”

Rhodey smothered his anger. “And you want to go back to them.”

Something shifted – something heavy and angry – in the Soldier's expression. “No.”

“Then what?”

“I'm going to kill them.”

“What – just out in the hallway? Pop?”

The Soldier tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. He might have been trying for bemused. “I was going to take them to a chemical closet.”

“Is there a reason the Captain isn't with you?”

“The Captain says I'm paranoid.”

“Is that true?”

“No.”

“Did you bring this up with Tony Stark?”

“He dismissed it.”

“Then do you have evidence?”

“Yes.”

Rhodey waited, but the Soldier didn't say any more. He crossed his arms, then prompted, “Could you show me?” Silence. “Do I look like the kind of guy who'd be part of a Neo-Nazi organization?” He vaguely gestured at his skin.

“I think you look like the kind of guy who'd be an officer in the United States Armed Forces.”

Rhodey unfolded his arms and started shuffling from foot to foot. He forced himself to look down at his shoes, heavily sighed, then looked back up again. “I'll make you a deal.” The Soldier did nothing. “I will go with you to track down this HYDRA... sleeper agent... whatever they are. Only I will be armed. Only I will touch them or harm them. In exchange for this, I don't report your presence to my superiors.”

The Winter Soldier looked at him, careful, considering. He lifted his chin, peered at him, then nodded.

Rhodey smiled. “Okay. So, where is your evidence?”

“I've been tailing. Stealing. She rendezvoused two days ago with an agent in the garage. I could show you if we could go to the building's security floor.”

“ _I'm afraid you do not have access-”_

“You heard the man, JARVIS.”


	27. Day 27 - Body Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey and Bucky both took a step back. The reflections did not. The two men glanced at each other, then looked at the other's reflection. They blinked. The angle changed.
> 
> No.
> 
> That wasn't right.

Bucky silently crept through the abandoned hallway, gun at the ready, led only by the light attached to the barrel of his automatic rifle. The concrete tunnel was pitch-dark, dank, cold, and filled with unsettling quiet.

The base they were raiding – they being him, Nat, Clint, and Rhodey – was supposedly an old system of tunnels that led to different bomb shelters, built during the Cold War under the Appalachian Mountains. The construction project was funded by Maxwell Oil Co., a corporation that turned out to not have a single barrel of its own namesake.

The corporation folded shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union. Everything else about it – its founders, the people behind it, why the tunnel system was built – remained a mystery. Fury wasn't taking any chances.

Bucky heard the distinct heavy thud-thudding footsteps of the War Machine suit approaching. Soon enough, Rhodey rounded the corner and stopped. “I think I found something.” Bucky lowered his barrel and eased his finger off the trigger. He hurried over; Rhodey held up a hand and added, “Nothing bad, just some weird shit.”

“Must be some serious weird shit for you to call it weird,” Bucky murmured. Rhodey huffed a laugh, then led him to a nondescript gray door. He pushed it open and stepped aside.

Bucky warily peered inside, then shone his light around; the room was about 20x20 feet, completely barren, save for an elaborately sculpted mirror – pale white with a frame the shape of branches and leaves, standing in the middle of the floor – glowing a faint purple, showing an image of swirling smoke.

Bucky clicked off his light and slowly started shaking his head. When he glanced at Rhodey's inquisitive head-tilt, he said, “I got nothin'.”

Rhodey opened his face-plate and whispered, “Do you _hear_ that?”

Bucky froze and listened carefully; eventually, he nodded. “Like... wind.”

Rhodey slowly approached the mirror. Bucky tensed and reached out for him, but Rhodey was already close enough to see his reflection. Bucky quickly went to his side, then froze at the sight of his own reflection.

At first, their reflections mirrored them, as they should; Rhodey's squinted and lifted its upper lip in confused challenge, while Bucky's stared with a slack jaw and furrowed brow. Then, both reflections stopped moving.

Rhodey and Bucky both took a step back. The reflections did not. The two men glanced at each other, then looked at the other's reflection. They blinked. The angle changed.

No.

That wasn't right.

The moment they realized that something was off, the mirror violently fractured into a million shards and went dark.

Bucky felt light-headed. His body sagged, but the War Machine armor prevented him from collapsing; instead, he slowly tilted sideways and plummeted to the ground like a felled tree.

Rhodey immediately gasped in pain and went to clutch at his chest when suddenly an electrifying wave flooded from his left arm straight to his head; he hissed through his teeth and grasped wildly at his left side, curling pale fingers around cold metal. He ended up cradling it by the wrist as if it were broken, willing it to be _still_.

They both looked at each other, and, at the same time, themselves.

Bucky's breathing turned erratic, panicked, while Rhodey forced himself to deeply inhale through his – Bucky's? – nose and out his mouth. He had no idea what his – Bucky's – body was doing or telling him, so he shook his – _shit_ – head and rasped, “Stay with me, bud.”

Bucky-in-Rhodey's-body started hyperventilating, staring blankly at the ceiling. Rhodey-in-Bucky's body stumbled over, fell to his knees, and forced himself to activate the mechanism that would open the suit. The armor bloomed open, illuminating the room in a soft blue light, yet Bucky still seemed completely out of it, trapped in his own head.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me – er, look at you – whatever – Bucky, you have to _breathe_ , man-”

Bucky couldn't hear a word he was saying. On a wild whim, Rhodey let the metal arm down onto his body's stomach; Bucky snatched his hand forward and squeezed the wrist.

Bucky's breathing immediately changed; instead of short and fast, they started coming in long and ragged. He sat up slightly and stared at his prosthetic arm, then looked over at his own face. Rhodey.

Bucky's iron grasp around the metal wrist made the arm send a flood of feedback to Rhodey's brain, which had absolutely no idea how to handle it, making it manifest into a migraine instead. With his free hand clutching his head, he grunted, “Can you. Please. Removeyourarm.”

Bucky clumsily clambered out of the suit and onto the floor, dragging Rhodey's left arm behind him, limp and dead. He slumped onto the concrete next to Rhodey's/his own shoulder, reached up with his right hand, flipped back a panel, and forced down a series of levers. A system of mechanisms whirred, and then the arm popped off and clattered into Bucky-in-Rhodey's-body's lap.

Rhodey slumped onto his back, covered his eyes with his hand, and moaned, “ _Ow_...”

Bucky leaned down towards the ear-peace still around his body's ear and rasped, “Nat. Clint. We're compromised.”

Rhodey immediately clapped a hand over Bucky's knee and moaned, “ _No_.”

“...What?”

“We can't tell them.”

Natasha's voice came in, _“Rhodey? What's the situation? Do you need medical?”_

Rhodey cleared Bucky's throat and said, “They don't have to know.”

Bucky worked Rhodey's jaw before he managed, “ _What?_ ”

“What good is it going to do?” Rhodey hissed. “So they can treat us like glass until they fix us? What if it can't be fixed? I want to know everything before we get them worked up.”

Rhodey watched his own face twist into a grimace as Bucky sighed, “Ah, shit.”

Clint's worried voice, “ _Rhodey?!_ ”

Rhodey activated his headset and grunted, “Bucky here. We're fine. Situation is under control.”

“ _Would you like back-up?”_

“Negative.” Rhodey looked back up at his own body staring at the mirror in uncomfortable puzzlement.

“It broke,” Bucky stated. “How... the _fuck_... do we get back?”

Rhodey pushed himself up with one arm, caught his breath, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his borrowed nose to ease away the last remnants of headache, then stumbled to his feet. He stood for a moment, then tried to take a step. Bucky's body folded to the floor like a house of cards.

When Rhodey got his bearings again through the haze of pain, he heard his own voice laughing Bucky's laugh. He huffed, then flailed his arm in the general direction of the laughter. “I'd like to see you do better.”

“No, you see, I'm not even gonna try.” At that, Bucky slung his prosthetic arm over his shoulders and started crawling on hand-and-knees – his left arm still hanging completely limp at his side – towards the mirror. Rhodey followed suit.

They both managed to slump into a sitting position in front of the fractured mirror. It was empty and still. Bucky warily reached forward and poked the glass with Rhodey's finger. Nothing. Rhodey crawled around to the back and started feeling around the surface, looking for buttons or panels; that, too, was fruitless.

Bucky hunched his shoulders and glowered at the mirror. “Abracadabra. Alacazam. Hocus pocus. Activate. On.”

After a beat, Rhodey crawled back around and added, “ _Please._ ”

The mirror did nothing. Bucky let out a low-pitched whine.

“Okay... okay,” Rhodey began. “I think. I think we might have to speak to Heimdall.”

“Does that mean we're telling Thor?”

“Of course not, do you honestly think he's the kind to keep secrets? He'd rat on our stupid asses in a heart-beat.”

“And laugh about it, probably.”

“Damn right.”

“Then what are we supposed to _do_?”

“We fake it.”

Bucky tried to execute one of his nastiest glares with Rhodey's face. It didn't work nearly as well, and mostly made him look like an angry bird. Rhodey held up his hand. “No, hear me out. We fake it only until Thor visits again, then we take him up on that tour of Asgard he's been trying to get us to do since forever. He takes us, we sneak away, find Heimdall, get him to fix us, thank him profusely, and voila! Nobody knows we ever fucked up.”

“Except Heimdall.”

“Eh, I trust him.”

“And we – what? Act like each other until then?”

“We're going to have to, yeah.”

Bucky shook his head and licked his lips, swallowed, then leaned down towards the com around his body's ear. In a confident impression of Rhodey, he said, “Nat? Clint? We're gonna need medical after all. We entered a room and something happened, knocked us out. My arm's hurt and Bucky's started malfunctioning. Neither of us can walk.”

“ _Uh, okay, well, sit tight you two, me and Nat are comin' for ya.”_

–

Safely back in Avengers Tower, they both let Clint and Nat change out first, opting to swing by – well, stagger by – the building's medical bay so a nurse could get Rhodey-but-actually-Bucky an arm sling. As she was attempting to persuade him to let them check it for fractures and other internal injury, Steve and Tony came striding through the door, expressions tinged with worry.

“What happened?” Tony demanded.

“Are you all right?” Steve prompted.

Rhodey and Bucky shared a look. Rhodey, in Bucky's voice, eased, “We're fine, it was just a...”

Bucky-as-Rhodey caught Tony's eye, smirked, and said, “That's classified.”

Tony quirked a brow and crossed his arms. “Oh really? We're going there? _God_ , get over here, asshole.”

Tony quickly moved towards Bucky, who hunched and hissed, “Still tender, still tender, be gentle.” Tony jolted to a halt and stiltedly mimed patting him on the shoulder.

Across the room, Steve had approached Rhodey-as-Bucky, thumbs tucked into his pockets and his shoulders hunched, looking at him with big blue eyes. Rhodey had never been subjected to the full onslaught of Steve Rogers's puppy-dog eyes before. That, on top of him desperately trying to suddenly remember every single one of Bucky's mannerisms and having to deal with a constant wave of pain that seemed to be coming from everywhere, was making him slightly hysterical.

“So what's all this about your arm?” Steve murmured.

Rhodey licked his lips, swallowed, swallowed again, shifted his weight to the other foot, then said, “I don't want to talk about it.” Then, after a beat, “It's not damaged, I just need time.”

Bucky swooped in and said, “If you don't mind, Cap, it's been a rough day. We could use the showers.”

Steve nodded and bowed out; Tony called, “You and me and movie night, honey-bun! I'm holdin' you to it!”

Bucky threw back an OK sign, and then they were out of the medical bay and taking confident strides towards the locker rooms. When they reached it, they came in through the door before Bucky closed it and locked it behind them, leaving them alone in the pale-blue room.

Rhodey immediately slumped against a wall and closed his eyes, tight.

Bucky slowly approached him, hesitated, then asked, “I wasn't injured in any of that, was I?”

Rhodey peeked an eye open. “How do you _live_ in this thing?”

“In what thing?”

“Do you... do you feel this pain _all_ the time?”

Bucky's gaze drifted to the ground. Rhodey watched his lips part for a moment. When Bucky looked up again, he said, “I got used to it.” Deftly, he started unbuckling the buckles of the bullet-proof vest around his body's chest. “In your body, I feel this numb kind of... tingle. I can hardly feel anything.” The vest dropped to the ground, leaving his body in its undershirt. He started rubbing tight circles with Rhodey's knuckles around the seam of his left shoulder, where the dock was. “I guess I don't notice 'till it's gone.”

Rhodey slowly exhaled and let his eyes flutter shut, leaning into the massage. “Shit sucks, man.”

“Mm.”

Eventually, Rhodey peeked an eye open. “You can't tell me that you don't feel a _little_ pain in mine, right? Especially after the mission we went through?”

Bucky quirked a brow, then rolled Rhodey's body's right shoulder. “Maybe a little in the back. Little in the knees.”

Rhodey wheezed out a laugh, then straightened up, shrugging off Bucky's – his own – hand. “Right, so, uh.” Bucky clasped his hands in front of him and blinked innocently. “I think your body has to, uh... take a leak. And I know mine does. So...” Bucky dropped the act and squinted at him with the smallest of head tilts. “Would it be okay if...?”

“You piloted my body while pissing?”

“Well – you know – it's your – bits – and I – am not You – and-”

Bucky wheezed out a little giggle. “You can _pee_ , Rhodes. You have my permission.”

“Yeah, well, same for you. I don't want a UTI when I get back.”

“What about showering?”

“ _That_... I'm not so comfortable with.”

“We could... wash each other? Ourselves, technically?”

“It'll be weird as fuck, but I prefer that, yeah.”

–

Rhodey emerged onto Steve and Bucky's shared floor from the elevator freshly showered and dressed in sweats. From there, he made a bee-line for the kitchen to silence Bucky's thundering stomach.

“Hey.”

Rhodey slowed to a stop. Steve was sitting at the kitchen island, which was completely covered in take-out Thai food. Rhodey warily walked over and sat on the opposite stool.

Steve shrugged a little and continued, “I thought you'd be really hungry after the op. Wanted to surprise you with your favorite.” He beamed.

Thai food was Rhodey's _least_ favorite. Why didn't he know what Bucky's favorite take-out was? How were they going to eat all of this?  “ _Thanks_ ,” he replied, with a tight smile.

Something shifted behind Steve's eyes, even though the rest of his expression remained frozen in place. Desperate to salvage it, Rhodey pulled a box over, grabbed a fork, then-

...tried to steady the box with his left hand.

He set aside the fork and grabbed a pair of chop-sticks, trying not to puke from the sick wave of fear and vertigo and primal panic of _his left arm being gone_.

Steve set down his own fork. “Are you feeling okay?”  


Rhodey stared down into his box of Thai food. “Not really.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

What would Bucky say? “Not really.”

Steve got off of his stool, picked it up, and carried it around the island. He set it down right beside him, sat down again, pulled some food over, filled his fork, and said, “The _funniest_ thing happened today when I was out with Sam. . .”

Rhodey carefully balanced his food between the chop-sticks as Steve talked on-and-on about how he and Sam had encountered a fire-truck, an ambulance, a police car, and an animal control van clustered outside of one of the city's fire stations, with every single emergency responder gathered outside, shouting about a huge python inside the station.

Rhodey ate his Thai food, enjoyed it, and laughed a little.

–

Bucky walked into the penthouse in jeans and a polo, fresh, clean, and arm in a sling. Tony loudly whistled and waved him over to the couch.

When Bucky finally made it to the giant couch, giant coffee-table, and giant television screen mounted on the wall, he spotted the bowl of popcorn. He raised an eyebrow.

Tony took a handful. “What?”

“You eat supper yet?”

“No. Why?”

Bucky headed for the kitchen. Tony shouted, “Since when do you use 'supper'?”

Bucky shouted back, “What do you want to eat?”

Tony dropped his handful of popcorn and vaulted over the back of the couch. He ran over to cut Bucky off from the kitchen, put his hands delicately on his shoulders, and said, “Rhodey. _Babe_.”

“Tony. _What_.”

“Your _arm_ , that's what! I can't let you _cook_!”

Bucky tried to step around him but Tony got in his way again. “I can cook with one arm, Tony.”

Tony threw up a finger and shook it. “Nuh-uh. You have been _mortally wounded_ , I shall not have you toiling in the kitchen.” He bounded over to the fridge, got out a package of hot dogs, went to the microwave, dumped some on a paper towel, and shoved them in.

Bucky almost said, _Who microwaves hot dogs?_ Then he remembered, _Since when do you use 'supper'?_

He realized that he knew absolutely nothing about the little things that Rhodey did day-to-day. They only knew each other in field-work. They never spent any time together that wasn't in a combat role.

Bucky slowly made his way back to the couch and started eating the popcorn. Tony arrived shortly after with a plate full of hot-dogs-on-buns, drowned in toppings. He left again, and came back with two bottles of beer. He sat down heavily beside Bucky, grabbed a hot dog, then asked, “Right! Your turn to choose.”

Bucky had no idea what Rhodey's taste in movies were. “Could we see that, uh...” He started snapping his fingers. “That, that one movie again?”

Tony tilted his head. “Road to Perdition?”

Bucky had to physically restrain himself from blanching. “No. Not that one.”

“Schindler's List?”

Not trusting his voice, Bucky shook his head.

Tony wrinkled his nose. “ _Pride and Prejudice_?”

“Yes! _Yes!_ That one!”

Slowly, Tony smirked. “Okay, you big sap. We'll watch Pride and Prejudice for the _fifth damn time_.”

–

That night, Rhodey lay in Bucky's bed, staring at the ceiling.

When he first came in, he was shocked at how empty it was; the white walls were completely bare, the furniture was the same as what Tony furnished it with, and all of Bucky's belongings were stored in two bags set beside the wall. He would have contributed it to the fact that he had just moved in, if “just moving in” was two years ago. The only thing of note was the metal arm, carefully laid out on top of the dresser by Natasha earlier in the day.

Interacting with Steve had also set him on edge. He felt like a liar and manipulator, seeing the man be so open with him – not him, Bucky – when their relationship was usually professional. He liked Steve, and hated the feeling that he was somehow taking advantage of the man. All of his words earlier in the tunnels seemed hollow and empty.

Neither of those things were what was keeping him awake, however. It was Bucky's body. His mind knew that it didn't belong there. Ever since they first traded places, there had been a tiny alarm bell in the back of his head screaming _wrong wrong wrong,_ and it wasn't just that he kept trying to use a non-existent left arm. He was a fifty-year-old black man, not a white thirty-two-year-old super-soldier.

Rhodey decided that anyone who said bodies had nothing to do with identity didn't know shit.

Of the short amount of time he spent in Bucky's body, Rhodey felt like he knew more about the man's identity than he learned from two years with him in the field. He knew that his brain and his arm were literally made for each other. He knew that he constantly felt pain from his left shoulder, and, to a lesser extent, his knees and hips. He knew that his taste buds liked Thai food, that he liked his hair long and soft, that he could easily snap chopsticks if his hand spasmed, and that he was circumcised.

He didn't dare look into any of the bags. Living in the man's body was invasion enough.

The dull panic in the back of his throat about the missing arm was the worst out of all of it. About halfway through his first tour overseas, he saw a nineteen-year-old get his left leg blown off. The kid only started screaming when he looked down. As Rhodey was tying off his leg, he remembered wondering, numb as he was, what it would feel like to lose a limb.

Rhodey looked to his left, at the harsh metal and the raised angry scar-line.

He sprang up and out of the bed and into the bathroom.

–

Bucky wondered if any of it was real.

Everything from the moment he saw the mirror felt like a dream. It made sense that it was a dream. He wasn't in his own body. How else to explain something like that than that it wasn't real?

He hardly felt anything in Rhodey's body, and suddenly it all made sense – it was because he wasn't actually there. It was like watching a recording, Rhodey sitting on the couch next to Tony, watching a movie, eating hot dogs and popcorn and sharing beer.

How much was real, then? Did he black out at the mirror? Was the mirror even real? Did they ever go to the Appalachia? Was he still in bed the morning before? A month ago? A year? Fifty?

Idly, he stuck Rhodey's hand deep into the bowl of popcorn and squeezed. The kernels crunched in his fist, covering it in crumbs and slat and butter. Tony looked over and drastically raised an eyebrow. “Rude much?”

Bucky extracted the hand from the bowl and started working the fingers against each other, feeling the texture of rough salt and soft corn. Then, he licked them clean, focusing on the taste of butter and skin. Tony whistled to get his attention. “Hm?”

Tony's eyes were wider than normal and the man looked tense. “Are you okay?”

Bucky stood up and started walking towards the elevator. “I don't think so.”

He heard Tony hop up and quickly hurry after him. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I just want to be alone for a while.” He pressed the _down_ button and waited. Tony hovered anxiously beside him, practically vibrating with nervous tension.

“Is it about what happened today? In the mountains?”

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “Just leave it. Please.” The elevator dinged; he opened them and stepped inside after the doors opened, pushing the button for his own – _his_ own, not Rhodey's – floor. When he turned around, Tony looked like a kicked dog. A part of him insisted that it wasn't his job to comfort the man, but the rest managed to say, “Don't worry.”

Tony shrugged and held out his arms in surrender. He dropped his arms back to his sides, hunched, shook his head, then sighed, “Okay.” The elevator doors closed.

As the elevator traveled downwards, Bucky addressed the fact that what he was going through wasn't a dream, but he still felt completely detached from the body he was in. It was true that he could hardly feel anything; not only touch, but also emotion. He felt like he was floating, suspended in reality.

He wanted it to _stop_.

The elevator doors opened and he started walking towards his own room. When he got there, he heard faint whimpering sounds coming from the bathroom. He walked past his dresser and to the door, then opened it.

His own face looked up from where it was hanging over the toilet bowl. He watched his body reach a shaking hand up to flush it, then lean back to sit on the floor, shivering. His voice said, “'M sorry.”

Bucky mechanically knelt down beside him. He lifted Rhodey's hand and rested it on the metal of his shoulder. It was cold. He ran it briefly across the metal platings, feeling the edges catch the skin of his borrowed hand. It grounded him, pulled everything more into focus. He moved the hand to the nape of his body's neck. “What are you sorry for?”

Rhodey shook his head and reached out for him. The two men pulled the other flush against their chest and squeezed, allowing themselves to breathe a moment.

“I'm, uh...” Rhodey began, still shaking a little. “Struggling a little bit. With all of this.”

Bucky nodded a little. “I don't know how much more of this I can take.”

Rhodey leaned back and rested their foreheads against each other. After a long while, he stopped shivering. He yawned. “I'm too tired to think.”

Bucky stood up and pulled Rhodey up with him. Without a word, he tugged him out of the bathroom and towards his bed. Rhodey stumbled, once, but then Bucky was crawling to the far side of the mattress and pulling him in with him. Rhodey collapsed onto the bed and immediately fell asleep.

Bucky toed off his shoes, pulled the blanket up over them both, then closed his eyes.

Perhaps it was the proximity of their bodies. Perhaps it was the comforting thought that perhaps, somehow, they could simply slip back into their own bodies. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that they were beside someone who knew what they were going through, that they weren't alone – but both of them had a dreamless sleep.

–

When the two of them finally woke up, the clock on Bucky's night-stand read 4:12PM.

“Shit,” Bucky murmured.

“Oh, man,” Rhodey moaned, stretching. There was a twinge from Bucky's left shoulder, but he expected it, and the warmth radiating to him from his own body was a small comfort. “Okay. Bathroom. Food. Showers. Then we find a way to fix this.”

–

The two of them showed up in the penthouse at six that night, awake and alert and in clean clothes. Tony, Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Sam were sitting on the couch. They all stopped talking when they entered.

Bucky-as-Rhodey prompted, “Was there a team meeting we weren't invited to?” He was met with various forms of 'No.'

Steve rubbed his hands across his knees and said, “We were just talking about you two. About how we're worried.”

Rhodey-as-Bucky shrugged and moved to take a seat with Bucky close behind. “Nothing to be worried about. We're handling it.” They sat down on the end, hip-to-hip again.

Natasha leaned forward and looked at them both, her mouth a flat line. She pinned them both with her interrogation stare for five seconds each, then asked, softly, “Is there something you two didn't tell us that day?”

Rhodey felt Bucky shift uncomfortably. When he opened his mouth, Rhodey reached over and clasped his hand. Bucky looked at him a moment, just long enough to see Rhodey nod, then turned back and said, “The mirror swapped us.”

Natasha blinked and sat back, her expression unreadable. Clint squinted.

Sam worked his jaw for a few moments, then managed, “Um?”

Bucky let go of Rhodey's hand and raised it. “I'm Bucky.”

Rhodey raised his hand. “I'm Rhodey.”

Everybody started talking at once. Finally, Tony jumped up on the couch and shouted, “And you're just telling us _now?!_ ”

Steve looked betrayed. He looked at Rhodey, then seemed to visibly correct himself by forcing his gaze to Bucky. “Why?”

Rhodey looked at his lap. “Because we were embarrassed.”

Bucky looked away. “And scared.”

“And we didn't want to get you involved.”

“We thought we could handle it ourselves.”

Then, they both said, “We're sorry.”

Clint slowly leaned forward, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He picked up his coffee mug, then asked, “And... how, exactly, would you fix it yourselves?”

“Heimdall.”

Clint quirked his brows and lifted his mug in a little toast. Natasha crossed her legs and spread her arms out on the back of the couch. “That settles it, then.”

Steve and Tony shared a look. Steve turned back and said, “Well... Thor's coming tomorrow for a check-in. We can bring it up to him then.”

Sam threw up a hand and scooted forward. “Hold up, sorry, hold up. Who is Heimdall?”

Tony languidly shrugged. “Ohh, he's just the gate-keeper of the Bifrost in Asgard.”

Sam's eyes widened into saucers. “Does this mean we're going to Asgard?”

Steve grinned and winked. “Probably.”

–

On the roof-top garden of the Tower, the Avengers gathered.

“I am glad you have come to me, friends.” Thor clapped his mitt-like hands on each of their shoulders and gave them a friendly shake before letting go. “This 'mirror' you described. It sounds like a window to Yggdrasil, the world-tree.”

Bucky shook his head. “You mean that... there's actually... a tree... that holds the worlds together?”

Thor chuckled. “Perhaps not a tree the way Midgard would understand it. I believe Jane called it a 'cosmic multi-dimensional support structure.'”

Rhodey slowly grinned. “So, that mirror... was us looking at the fabric of _dimensions_?”

Thor matched his grin and nodded. Rhodey turned to look at Bucky, beaming, only to be met with a sour glare.

Bucky turned back towards Thor. “So how do we fix this?”

“You said that the window you both used shattered when you looked through it. I say it shattered because it was not primed properly beforehand. These windows take five-hundred of your years to repair.” Just as despair started to seep into their eyes, Thor added, “There is, however, another window in the royal gardens of Asgard.”

Sam elbowed Steve in the side.

–

Asgard was gorgeous. Bright. Busy. Jaw-dropping. Even Bucky would have been completely enchanted if not for the fact that both he and Rhodey had tunnel-vision for their own bodies.

The city was towering and glistening in the light. Thor led them through the streets to impromptu fanfare. After a mile's trek or so, they reached the palace; through the palace and out the back were the royal gardens, filled with all sorts of grasses and flowers and shrubs – and, in the very back, a towering ash tree, with a Yggdrasil window at its base – the spitting image of the one they found in the tunnels.

Thor approached it first, and signaled for the rest of them to stand back. He stood in front of the window, bowed his head, and murmured something. Afterward, he looked up, nodded once, and stepped aside. “My friends? I believe it's time to set things right.”

Rhodey and Bucky stepped forward, then walked to the front of the window. Bucky lifted his prosthetic arm and reattached it to his torso, not activating it for Rhodey's sake, before looking through the window. They stared into the familiar purple smoke and saw the reflection of the other looking back at them. Then, the reflections froze. They looked across at the reflection of their own body.

They blinked.

The angle shifted.

Rhodey looked down and lifted both of his arms. Bucky shoved his metal soldier and felt his metal arm hum to life; he closed his eyes and smiled. The next second, they threw themselves into the other's embrace as the rest of their team whooped and hollered. After spinning in a circle, Rhodey leaned their foreheads together with a bright peal of laughter. Bucky tilted his head up and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a real struggle. It demanded a lot of patience on my part because:
> 
>   1. My only previous experience with body-swapping is Freaky Friday and Quantum Leap
>   2. I kept erasing whole swaths of this thing and rewriting it
> 

> 
> I always used to tell myself that if I ever wrote a body swap fic, I'd write about how difficult it would be to be torn from your body and forced into one that you don't identify with. I tried to go for that with this fic without completely drowning the romance element or making it too angsty.
> 
> **Fun fact:** The story that Steve tells about the fire station is a reference to the sitcom _Sirens_. Also, I wanted to make sure I worked _Road to Perdition_ in there because I wrote a lot of this to its soundtrack.


	28. Day 28 - All Your Favs Are Trans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey was starting to curl in on himself, so Bucky turned further to face him, lifting their left hand to curl around his shoulder. “What? What is it?”
> 
> Rhodey swallowed. “Can I tell you something?”

The Yukon territory was vast, colorful, and utterly gorgeous. The cool, fresh air was a sharp contrast to the hot heavy blanket that could lay over the city, and everywhere there was the constant sound of birds that weren't pigeons.

The space and the quiet were relaxing, for the most part. But Rhodey was under no illusion that he wasn't a hopeless city boy.

Alright, sure, he had survival training in the Air Force, but survival in hostile territory was a lot different from recreational camping. The last time he went recreational camping was in Girl Scouts, and he came out of that with eight different tick bites and a dozen mosquito welts.

Most sane people would never go camping again after those experiences – none of which were pleasant – but the current circumstances were... special.

Rhodey looked around at the towering pines, the bark and mulch wet from the mist. It was starting to sprinkle, tiny sighs of water bouncing off the leaves overhead. There was a babble of water a little ways down a ridge. Rhodey followed it, pulling the hood of his raincoat over his head and resituating the straps of his backpack before he started traversing down the slope.

That was when he heard the roar.

His head snapped around towards the creek; he immediately lost his balance and slid all the way down to the bank in a tumble of wood chips and rocks. When he sat up, he saw a grizzly bear about twenty yards off, standing in the creek, puffing up at him with another roar.

He blanked for about two seconds, then scrambled to his feet when the bear bounded towards him, raising his hands high above his head – snapping his pistol from its holster on the way – and chanting random nonsense like, “ _Ayyyyy bear_ ” and “ _Whoaaaaaa bear_.” The bear, thankfully, snuffled and growled and took a few steps back. He glanced around quickly – he didn't see or hear any cubs, small grace there, but there was a small pile of dead fish on the bank. “I don't wanna start nothing with you, bear.”

He was about to step sideways to try and move on when the bear charged again; there was a rustling from the brush to his left and suddenly a figure joined him, hands also raised above their head with a pistol, shouting in a familiar tenor, “ _Whoa, bear! Whoa, bear!_ ”

The bear looked at them both and started backing up again; Bucky bumped him with their hip and the two of them began moving across the creek, up the bank, and into the trees. They both kept their pistols drawn and half-walked backwards for a good half mile before they finally spoke.

“What the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?” Rhodey demanded, holstering his pistol.

Bucky holstered their own pistol and smirked, all dimples and teeth. “I was here first, y'know.”

“ _You don't say._ Bucky, you've been gone for almost two months now, we've been worried _sick_ -”

“I thought the whole 'running away for a while without telling anyone' was a rite of passage?”

Rhodey spat out a _pffft_. Bucky cocked their hip and crossed their arms. “It might as well be, but that doesn't mean anybody _likes_ it.” Bucky didn't say anything more, just stared at him expectantly, so Rhodey continued, “You disappeared right after we asked you to join the Avengers. You know, you could've just said ' _no'_.”

Bucky inhaled slowly, then finally broke eye contact to look away towards the brush, gently sighing. Their posture relaxed a little. “What are you doing here, Rhodey?”

“ _Not_ hunting down your fool ass, that's what.”

The smile returned to Bucky's face. They looked back at him, challenge glinting in their eyes, and prompted, “Then what _are_ you here for, oh great Iron Lady-”

“ _Don't_... call me that.”

Bucky did several things very quickly. First, their expression froze and their eyes darted up and down his body. Second, they tensed again. Third, they unfolded their arms, stood up straight, and said, “Okay,” with an easy shrug.

Rhodey had changed since the last time Bucky saw him. For one, he used to have his hair in two-strand twists and was wearing women's clothing. In a fit of pique, Rhodey shaved it all off, mass-bought a bunch of camping gear and masculine outdoor apparel online, and prepared a trip to Canada.

Bucky, for their part, had been wearing a mixture of men's and women's clothing – like right then, standing in the woods in masculine pants and a camouflaged, insulated, feminine jacket – and an unchanging curtain of hair for the past two years.

“I just needed to get away for a while,” Bucky continued, turning to walk through the underbrush. Rhodey followed close behind. “Clear my head. Sort myself out. Figure out what I wanted.”

“You couldn't have done that while also checking in with us? We left probably a dozen messages. Where's your Starkphone?”

Bucky looked over their shoulder, smirking again. “'Smashed it.”

Rhodey gaped for a moment, pausing in his walk. “ _Smashed_ it?” He hurried after them. “ _Why_ would you-”

Bucky's voice adopted a scathing undertone. “You think I didn't know it was a tracker?”

“That's for our _safety_ , Buck.”

“And here I thought you were done working for the government.”

“Because the government is wrong about everything at all times always? You know – Whatever. It helped us find Clint when he fell out of that helicopter.”

“You all don't have to worry.”

“We know we don't. But we do anyway.”

Bucky stopped walking. Rhodey stepped up beside them and looked at them closely. Their head was bowed, their right hand was fiddling with the strap of their pack, and a small frown was growing on their face. After a beat, Bucky looked up again and bumped his shoulder. “It's a nice thing to know. Right now, though, I'm more worried about _you_. What on earth are you doing stealing my vacation ideas and making me save you from bears?”

Rhodey hitched his pack further onto his shoulders and lifted his chin, indignant. “I could've totally handled that bear. You didn't 'save' me, I was fine.”

Bucky bumped his shoulder again. “Yeah, I know you could've 'handled' it. But do you _really_ want to shoot a bear?”

“...No.”

“There. I saved you from a bear.”

“You saved me from _having to shoot_ a bear.”

“Same difference.”

A laugh bubbled out of Rhodey's chest. “ _No_ , it's _not!_ ” They started walking again, side-by-side, smothering their chuckles.

“So, Ms.-” Rhodey flinched “-Rhodes, may I assume that you didn't smash your phone when you went on this lovely vacation?”

“Yup. Got it right here in my pocket, and I check in with the gang every week.”

Bucky glanced at him. “Every week? How long have you been out?”

“...One week.”

They huffed a laugh through their nose. “How long do you plan on staying out?”

“For as long as it takes.”

Bucky nodded, and the two of them continued walking.

–

That night, after finding an acceptable clearing, Bucky set up camp while Rhodey scrounged for firewood. When he returned, Bucky was finishing up with the second tent. They took a step back and presented them to him with a flourish.

Rhodey grinned. “Ever the homemaker, Mx. Barnes.” He gently laid the wood on the ground, then started gathering stones.

“Did you call the team while you were out?” Rhodey looked up when Bucky handed him a rock.

“Nah. I only call on Saturdays.” He started placing his armful around the wood. “Why do you ask?”

Bucky eased themself onto the ground, crossed their legs, and watched him work. “The way you flipped out on me back there, I thought you'd call and tell them where I was at the first opportunity.”

Rhodey knelt down onto one knee and took out his lighter. “Look, Buck. You don't want them to know where you are, I'm not gonna tell them. Not my call.” He flickered it next to the kindling until it caught, then leaned down and gently blew the flame to life.

He leaned back and settled down onto his hip, sliding the lighter back into his pocket. Afterwards, he crossed his legs beneath him, and paused when he noticed Bucky looking at him with a warm expression, eyes soft, mouth tilted slightly upwards.

“Thank you.”

Rhodey suppressed a shiver. “No problem.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting the warm light of the fire warm them and the crackle of wood lull them. Then, Bucky pulled out a pan and cooked them both a meal of beans and rice.

When it was done, Bucky moved over to sit by Rhodey with the pan and two spoons. Rhodey dug into it with gusto, thankful for a hot meal for the first time in eight days, even if it _was_ excessively bland.  When he swallowed, he beamed at Bucky and offered, “Thank you.”

Bucky twitched a little, then smiled. “No problem.”

–

The next morning, Bucky was up and dismantling their tent by sunrise, which meant that Rhodey was up and disapprovingly squinting at them. Occasionally, Bucky would look over, smile in the cheesiest way, then return to their work, leaving Rhodey to eventually mumble, “Fuckin' early birds.”

“Oh, it's just 'cause you're old.”

That got Rhodey up all right.

After chasing Bucky half-heartedly around the campsite for approximately ten seconds, Rhodey set about packing up his own tent. Meanwhile, Bucky finished tying down their pack and slinging it over their shoulders.

Rhodey looked at him from his spot on the ground, collapsing poles. “You leaving?”

Bucky bit their cheek, then shrugged. “Mm. Maybe. But then who would protect you from the bears?”

“The only bear around here is your hairy ass,” Rhodey mumbled.

“ _What_ did you say?!”

“Nothing!”

Bucky stayed. They also shaved that night.

–

By the third day they woke up together in the Yukon, Rhodey felt like the two of them were sliding back into an old groove.

They both worked in a comfortable camaraderie, feeding off of each other's energy; everything became that much more enjoyable, from the cold, to the rain, to slippery rock climbs, even to fighting off devil's club. Rhodey never prompted Bucky about the Avengers, and Bucky dropped the usual terms and nicknames of “Ms. Rhodes” and “Iron Lady.” Rhodey immediately picked up on the change, noting the spaces in conversation where they would usually throw one out only to be replaced by silence or “Rhodey.” He didn't know how he felt about it.

At one point, the two of them came to a large, rushing river, devoid of any rocks or logs to cling to, hurrying along its course fast enough to have its surface swirl around in white foam. The water droplets that splashed up onto their faces were like freezing needles. They looked at each other.

Rhodey hazarded, “Maybe... we should walk along it, try to find a calmer place to cross.”

Bucky squinted. “Naw, we can make it.”

Rhodey side-eyed them. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

“We can make that.”

“Barnes, I'm five-foot-seven and a hundred-fifty pounds.”

“And I'm six-foot and two-hundred, and I'm telling you we can make it.”

“And _I'm_ telling you we got time to look for a calmer spot.”

“And if we can't?”

Rhodey glared at them. Bucky attempted to puppy-eye him. Rhodey had known Tony Stark for thirty-three years, and was unaffected.

Bucky tried another tactic. “Okay. Maybe you're right. We have to take care, y'know, 'cause you're so _small_...”

“You callin' me small.”

“I'm calling you _puny_.”

Rhodey puffed up like the grizzly bear from three days ago and growled, “You wanna _go?_ ”

“Hell _yeah!_ ”

They clamped their hands around the other's elbows and waded into the water, Rhodey vibrating with indignant rage, Bucky vibrating with giddy satisfaction.

Exactly three feet into the river, they both stopped vibrating and turned gravely serious.

“I'll plant my feet into the river bed, and then you take a step and plant your feet, then I'll take a step and – got it?” Bucky prompted.

Rhodey nodded, frowning. “Got it.” Bucky dug their feet into the slick rocks, made sure they had a good footing, then nodded at Rhodey to take a step. Rhodey did, then dug his feet into the rocks, allowing Bucky to take a step. They went back and forth like that, step-by-step-by-step, until finally their feet touched dry land on the other end of the river.

The two of them hurried over into the grass and whooped and hollered and howled like a couple of teenagers. After a quick high-five, they started off into a brisk jog, attempting both to cover a lot of ground before sundown and bring feeling back into their legs.

–

“So, the way I see it,” Rhodey said in-between bites of jerky, “we're heading steadily north-west. At this rate, we'll hit Alaska.”

Bucky was staring up at the stars, firelight dancing across their already-stubbly chin. “How would you like to walk to Nome?”

“Like my feet would fall off.”

Bucky smiled. “If we hurry, we might be able to catch the Iditarod.”

“As long as we get to mush the rest of the way there, maybe.”

Bucky laughed, then lightly shook their head, dismissing the idea. Rhodey broke his next piece of jerky in half and shared it. Bucky took it and knocked their knee against his in thanks.

After a long moment of silence where they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, chewing and occasionally sipping out of their canteens, Rhodey swallowed and ventured, “...Bucky?”

“Mm?”

“How did... you know what... gender you were?”

Bucky lowered their canteen and stared into the fire. “That's... an interesting question.”

Rhodey ducked his head. “Forget I said-”

“It's not quite as simple as 'I always knew,'” Bucky interrupted. “Of what I remember from... before, I never really... questioned it. I didn't mind living as a man, much, but I didn't revel in it either. I kinda did what was expected of me, kept my head down, kept my nose clean – until Steve picked me up and rubbed it in the dirt, so to speak.” Rhodey snorted. Bucky grinned briefly, then looked at him. “Did you know that Steve was the one who kept dragging me up into Greenwich Village? Don't trust historians who point fingers at _me_. He was always playing chicken with the law-” They shook their head as if to clear it, then looked back towards the fire. “I have one good memory of a time he took me to a drag show. I was twitchy the whole time until the performers came out on stage, and I just... I was _floored_. And jealous. And that jealousy scared me, so I...” Their brow furrowed. “...Shut it up.”

“So were you...?”

“I don't know if I was non-binary back then. I might have just liked the look. Steve was interested too, and he's cis, for crying out loud. I don't know.” They hung their head. “The war's another story. I wasn't thinking much about gender during the war.” A long pause. “Wasn't thinking much of anything during the war.” They paused again, and Rhodey slowly moved his hand towards their knee. Bucky moved their right hand to curl around it, and held it, tightly. They weren't the only soldier who had suffered; there was one right beside them, willing to be bled on. “The Winter Soldier wasn't supposed to have an identity. I wasn't a man, then.” They took a deep breath, and said, “When Sam and Steve found me, I was using it/its/itself. They said I was a man. So I followed their lead. _Mimicked_ being a man.”

“...I take it that didn't work out.”

Bucky donned a dry, humorless smile. “No. It really didn't. Things got bad. That was when Natasha took me shopping one day, and I saw this skirt. She bought me the skirt. And it was like a dam broke.” They were quiet for a long moment, then said, “She showed me a list of over a hundred pronouns the same day and that was that.”

Rhodey started jiggling his foot. “And how did you feel? What about your body?”

Bucky gently bit their lip and thought. “It felt like I was _free_. Like... like a weight was lifted off of my chest for the first time in over ninety years. I made more progress in my recovery. The bad days were bad, but the good days were better.” They blinked, then turned so they could look at Rhodey face-to-face. “My body... I never really... questioned it, before. It never felt wrong, to me. It only felt wrong when people changed it, so I... don't. Want to change it. I like it just the way it is.”

Rhodey tightened his grip around Bucky's hand until his knuckles paled. “Do you regret telling everyone else?” he whispered.

Bucky sat up straight, squeezed his hand back, and looked him in the eye. “The amount of love and support I've gotten from everyone...” They shook their head. “I have a team that supports me and I get to be who I am. So, no. I don't regret it.”

Rhodey was starting to curl in on himself, so Bucky turned further to face him, lifting their left hand to curl around his shoulder. “What? What is it?”

Rhodey swallowed. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I... am a man.”

Bucky didn't say anything. Instead, they just held his hand and started to gently stroke his shoulder with their metal thumb. It was grounding, in a way.

“I didn't know I was until about seven years ago,” Rhodey confessed. “And when I did know, I was too scared to do anything about it.” His voice started cracking. Bucky's face softened. “That was when I was forty-three. Now I'm going on fifty and I'm – I hate my body, I hate my name, I hate my records, I feel like I'm drowning and I feel like it's too _late_ -” Tears sprung into his eyes and Bucky pulled him into a hug. Rhodey stared at a tree over their shoulder and tried to get his tears under control. When he got his breath again, he continued, “I feel like it's too late and I'll never be able to be who I am or look like who I want to be and the public will hate me and the team will hate me- and I...” He swallowed. “I'm scared.”

Bucky slowly eased him back so they could look him in the eye. “You know what?”

Rhodey sniffled. “What?”

“I was scared too.” Rhodey blinked at them. “Scared that I couldn't change, scared that Steve wouldn't accept me, that I was broken somehow. But I found my identity and claimed it for myself. Steve didn't abandon me, Sam didn't call me names, and the team-” they huffed “-asked me to join the Avengers, so, there's that for you.”

Rhodey worked his jaw for a few moments. “So... I should...”

Bucky squeezed his hand and shoulder, then let go. “You know the people closest to you better than I ever could. If you feel safe coming out to them, then I say go for it. If you _don't_ feel safe...” Bucky frowned. “Your call.”

Rhodey slowly exhaled. “Okay... Okay.” He looked towards the fire and began rubbing his hand back and forth over his knee. “Do you think it's too late for me to transition?”

Bucky joined him in looking at the fire. “'It's never too late 'till you're dead.' Something my dad used to say. For the most part, I've found it to be true.”

Rhodey glanced at them. “What's the rest of the part?”

“Taxes.”

Rhodey snorted, then started chuckling. Bucky grinned, proud of themself.

And just like that, Rhodey felt a little less scared.

–

Several mornings later, the clouds had parted and the sun shone in golden rays that trickled through the leaves to the ground below. Rhodey and Bucky were hiking up a steep hill in search of the Alaskan highway.

“Have you talked to any doctors?”

“Bucky, when I came on this trip, I wasn't even sure I could still transition. _No_ , I haven't talked to any doctors.” Bucky held up a branch to allow him to pass through without incident. “Thanks.”

“Any time, pal.” They continued onwards, Bucky a little behind. “Sam looked up a ton of resources when we were all still confused about my gender. Put it all in a big folder. I kept it, 'see if I can't dig it up for you.”

“That's very generous of you.”

“Nothing 'generous' about it, I'm just being a friend.” A beat, then Bucky stopped and turned to face him. Rhodey stopped and looked. Bucky's face was obnoxiously earnest. “I'm with you for the long haul, Rhodes. I've got your back.” They clapped him on his shoulder and squeezed.

Rhodey allowed himself to smile, then continued walking. “Will you stand next to me when I come out to the team?”

“Absolutely.”

“And come with me to my first appointments?”

“All of your appointments, if you want. Whatever you need.”

“Well...” Rhodey twisted around a patch of devil's club, letting Bucky pass him, and wiped his brow. “I don't exactly need you there, but... I want you there.”

Bucky glanced over their shoulder at him and beamed. Rhodey huffed a laugh and moved up to join them, walking close enough that their knuckles kept brushing. “You know I have your back, too, right? We're in this together?”

Bucky grasped his hand and held it, looking him up and down before meeting his eyes. They smiled and nodded, soft. “You know, I'm glad I met you, Rhodey.”

“Right back at you, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt is _quite_ close to home, so I ended up making **eight** different false-starts to this prompt before I finally put my head down and forced myself to write this one. I'm gonna be honest with you: this is the product of my bitterness towards "'''"~~~genderbend~~~""""" fics (which was the _actual prompt_ ) and trans fics written by cis people that actually turn out to be fetish porn, so the romance in this one suffered as a result.
> 
> I would like to thank [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAZHi2_kiXs) and [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtXOMp9JfHY) for helping me strong-arm my way through the _legions_ of writer's block that grew all over this fic.


	29. Day 29 - Clothes Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 times Rhodey or Bucky shared clothes with the other, +1 time they both did

**1.)**

“ _. . . expect straight-line winds of up to 65 miles per hour, heavy rain, baseball sized hail, and a high risk for tornadoes._ MRAH! MRAH! MRAH! _This is a severe weather warning-_ ”

Clint's eyebrows furrowed in concern as he pouted at the weather radio. “So... I guess we're not being extracted tonight?”

Natasha was slowly and cautiously scoping out the weathered log cabin. She sidled up to a closet, held her pistol close to her hip, then threw it open – accompanied by a dramatic flash of lightning and thunder – to reveal two old rain-coats. Her shoulders relaxed as she holstered her weapon. “Nobody's going anywhere in this.”

“Do you think Rhodey and Bucky are all right?”

“They'll be here soon, Clint.”

“Are you s-”

At that moment, the sound of stomping feet joined the sound of pounding hail out on the front porch. The front door was thrown open, and Rhodey and Bucky stumbled inside in a chaotic bundle before kicking it shut behind them.

Rhodey was soaked-through entirely, dripping water all over the floor, leaning over onto his knees and occasionally shivering; there were a few dark purple bruises blooming on the side of his face and forearms. Bucky looked much better in comparison, easily removing his armored jacket to hang on the coat-rack by the door.

Natasha's mouth curled upwards as she leaned against a table holding a couple candles and picture frames against the wall. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Clint ran his hand through his hair. “Rhodey? No offense, bro, but you look like shit.”

Rhodey slowly looked up and shivered again. “No shit.” He took a breath, then continued, “H-had to put the suit d-down a mile, uh-” he threw an arm out, almost hitting Bucky, “that a way, into a giant p-pit of mud, I stumble out int-to all this crap, then this glorious b-bastard swoops in and hauls my s-sorry ass over here.”

Bucky, meanwhile, was unlacing his boots and tucking them neatly into the corner beside the door. Rhodey reached out to heavily pat him on the back, and ended up half patting him on the ass. Bucky straightened, took a good look at him, then looked at Clint and Natasha and said, “Towels.”

Clint pointed down the hall while Natasha turned and went inside a room. She returned a few seconds later with an armful of towels, then chucked them at Bucky's head. Bucky roughly caught them, then turned to Rhodey and said, “Take off your socks and shoes.”

Rhodey, cold and miserable, didn't question and simply started toeing off his drenched sneakers while Bucky roughly toweled him moderately dry. When he was done, he dropped them on the floor and started taking off his sweater. “Here.”

Rhodey finished taking off his socks and looked at him like he was mildly insane. “Why are you t-taking your shirt off?”

Bucky carefully arched an eyebrow. “It's dry and warm. Now swap.”

Rhodey dragged his eyes away from Bucky's chest – it was very, very prominent – and peeled off his T-shirt with a wet _squelch_. He handed it to Bucky, then slid on the sweater. He shivered again and started rubbing his arms. Bucky walked off with the soaked shirt, supposedly in search of a dryer.

Rhodey drifted closer to Clint, who said, “Uh... Did he just-? Literally give you the shirt off his back?”

**2.)**

“And it's a _formal dinner_ , so I expect you all to dress your best. That means _suits_ , people.”

Maria and Natasha shared a look while Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Steve grimaced at Bucky, who grimaced back. Sam and Rhodey fist-bumped. Clint and Tony were asleep. Thor flipped his hair over his shoulder, oozing self-assurance. Pepper beamed at them all one last time, threateningly waved her Starkpad, then left for the elevator.

–

Bucky had been staring at the chess-board for the past five minutes. Both he and Rhodey were participating in an hour of chess on Rhodey's floor as an alternative to the usual Avenger movie night.

Rhodey, sprawled across his arm-chair in an attempt at comfort, yawned and checked his watch. Only then did Bucky sigh, slow and melancholy.

“All right, I'll bite. What's the matter?”

Bucky glanced up from the board, only to look down and mumble, “Nothin',” around his hand propping up his cheek. It made him look slightly like a blood-hound.

Rhodey slowly reached forward and poised to flick one of Bucky's pieces over. Bucky gently smacked his hand away. “Spill or make a move, man.”

Bucky let his hand fall to his knee, then slowly sat back in his chair. “It's this... dinner.”

“You don't wanna go.”

“ _Eh_. No, I do, it's just...” He frowned. “I don't have anything to wear.”

“Oh, that's easy. Rent something.”

Bucky furrowed his brow in a brief look of puzzled betrayal, then physically deflated. He moved a pawn directly into the path of one of Rhodey's knights. Rhodey took the pawn, then stood up.

Bucky turned in his chair to watch him walk past and into his walk-in closet. “Rhodey? What are you doing?”

A dress-shirt went flying out of the doors, swiftly followed by dress-pants and a tie. All of them landed roughly in Bucky's lap, who was staring down at them, dumbfounded.

Rhodey emerged from his closet, holding a suit-jacket. “How about I let you borrow these?”

Bucky carefully began folding the shirt. “Rhodey, I can't-”

Rhodey perched on the arm of Bucky's arm-chair. “Don't worry about it. You can borrow this one for free, it's no problem, and besides – this way you don't have to go through some strange company you don't know.” When Bucky still looked uncertain, he added, “I have over a dozen more, I'm _fine_.”

Bucky tilted his head up at him and blinked. “Who in their right mind has over a dozen suits?”

Rhodey smirked. “It's not the Depression anymore, Buck. You can spoil yourself a little.”

**3.)**

“And when – and when the DJ changed the song to-!”

“And everybody got in the middle of the ice-rink?!”

“That was the most I've moved in years!”

“Everybody was laughing and-”

“Wasn't that the _greatest?!_ ”

Bucky let loose a bright peal of laughter and bumped Rhodey's shoulder with his own. It was Christmas Eve in New York, and the two of them were walking down a dimly-lit side-street. Soft white flakes of snow drifted down from above, landing on their coats before melting. A freezing breeze ruffled their collars.

“Oh, man.” Rhodey rolled his shoulders to hide more of his head within his coat. “This wind-chill is killer. I can't feel my face anymore.”

“Here.” Bucky unraveled the scarlet scarf from around his neck and gently bundled it around Rhodey, shielding his ears and most of his cheeks from the wind, leaving himself only in his pea coat.

Rhodey slowed down to gingerly touch the scarf. “What's this for?”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “You just said you were cold.”

“I... _Thank_ you. I'll give it back when we-”

“No, keep it.”

Rhodey blinked at him, aghast. “You sure?”

Bucky smirked. “Positive.”

A slow smile blossomed on Rhodey's face. He knocked his hand against Bucky's, then sped up, saying, “I can always count on you to be a friend, Buck.”

Bucky, behind him and out of view, allowed a moment of hurt to ghost across his face. “Yeah.” He briefly bit his bottom lip. “What are friends for?”

**4.)**

The mission went... rough.

Rhodey uneasily led Bucky back to their motel room, metal arm curled around his shoulders for support as Bucky limped through the hallway, singed and battered. He was also very quiet. Granted, Bucky was always quiet, but Rhodey could sense that something was... well. Off.

Rhodey fumbled with the key in the lock, then finally opened the door. The room itself was garrishly beige and yellow, like it never moved on from the 70s. After they were both inside, he shut and locked the door behind them and flipped on the lights. “You need help getting out of that armor?”

Bucky gently pushed him away as an answer, then started limping towards the bathroom and the shower.

Rhodey watched him leave with a concerned frown. Everything had been going quite well on the op, all things considered, until the mercenaries they were fighting figured out which building Bucky and Clint were perched on. Then the bastards had the brilliant idea to set it on fire.

Bucky had taken the brunt of the fall, protecting Clint. Clint was able to walk away with a few lacerations and bruises, but Bucky had lost his pack in the fall – containing all of his travel things, from his toothbrush to his clothes.

When Rhodey heard the hiss of the shower, he started digging around in his own pack. Soon enough, he managed to pull out his old Air Force hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He folded them neatly and left them outside the bathroom door. Then, he walked over to his bed, took off his shoes, crawled over to the headboard, sat back, and turned on the television.

Eventually, the bathroom door opened, releasing a small puff of steam. Rhodey didn't turn to look, but he saw a pair of arms out of the corner of his eye take the clothes and shut the door again. After a few minutes, the door opened again. Bucky walked out, wearing the hoodie and sweatpants, and went straight to his own bed. He dragged himself to the middle of the mattress, then curled up on his side, facing Rhodey. His eyes drifted closed.

Rhodey turned down the TV. After half an hour or so, Bucky's breathing finally slowed and deepened to the level it did when he was asleep. Rhodey carefully got up and turned off the lights, then the television. He hesitated beside Bucky's bed.

There was... something, about looking at him sleeping in his clothes. Like he was safer, somehow. A large burn on the side of his face was already healing, and the cuts on his right hand had scabbed over a while ago. That, paired with his hair clean and still damp from the shower, and the softness of Rhodey's sweatclothes, it looked like the bloody picture still replaying in Rhodey's head was two days ago, not two hours.

It struck him, suddenly, like a lightning bolt, exactly how much he cared for him. Loved him, even.

Hell.

**5.)**

“You ready to see it?”

“Bucky. You've been bouncing off the walls about this for a _week_ , now. That's a _week_ that I've been ready to see it.”

Rhodey and Bucky were both standing in the Tower's garage; Bucky was in an entirely dark leather getup, while Rhodey was wearing his usual polo/blue-jean combo. Bucky smiled wide – a radiant, sunny smile – then pulled the tarp off a large object.

A motorcycle.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing, it's just...”

“ _What?_ ”

“I am simply underwhelmed.”

Bucky squinted at him, mouth agape.

Rhodey raised his hands. “Not that much of a fan of motorcycles, sorry.”

Bucky's entire posture shifted – his weight switched to the other leg, and he jutted out a hip, resting a hand on it for good measure. “You wanna go for a ride and see if you still hold that opinion?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You're damn right it is.”

“All right then, _Mister Barnes_. Show me what you've got.” Rhodey started moving towards the motorcycle, but Bucky held up a hand.

“Whoa there. Hold up.”

Now it was Rhodey's turn to put his hands on his hips. “What?”

Bucky shucked off his leather jacket, then presented it to Rhodey. “You gotta wear this.”

“Do you realize that this means you're left in your little white T-shirt?”

Bucky held up his left hand and wiggled the metal fingers. “I have only one arm I can get road-burn on, which is more than can be said for you. Put on the jacket.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but he smiled as he shrugged on the leather jacket. It was heavier than what he was used to, and the texture was definitely different, but he had to admit that it looked rather nice. When looked up, Bucky was staring at him. Namely his chest and his arms.

Rhodey licked his lips, then prompted, “Bucky?”

“...Hmm?”

A bark of laughter almost slipped out of Rhodey's mouth. He could already feel his cheeks heating up. “Like the view?”

“Immensely.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Never.”

Bucky swung himself onto the motorcycle and pulled on his helmet. Rhodey took his seat behind him and pulled on the passenger helmet, then gingerly placed his hands on Bucky's sides. Bucky reached back and hauled them around his stomach, then kicked up the stand and started the engine.

The next thing Rhodey knew, they were roaring out of the garage and into the city.

Three hours later, as they thundered along the Pennsylvania countryside, Rhodey howled into the wind as Bucky shook with laughter.

**+1.)**

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

“What am I looking at?”

“Uh. I believe that is our best friends, sleeping on the couch, wearing each other's clothes. Unless Bucky joined the Air Force when I wasn't looking.”

“And Rhodey doesn't wear plaid. He just. Doesn't. Wear plaid.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Look!”

“Oh, no. You're kidding me. They're holding _hands_? In their _sleep_?”

“It's actually kind of sweet.”

“Rogers! Keep your eyes on the prize!”

“What prize?”

“Our best friends are now a unified force of party-pooping terror!”

“And _yet_ – I'm still happy for them.”

“But... They... Okay, yeah. Yeah. It's nice to see. Truly. I-”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?'

“How about we give them some privacy?”

“Oh! Yeah! Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-nine down... One to go.


	30. Day 30 - Zombie Apocalypse AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I daresay, beautiful Sir, _who_ are you and _what_ have you done with my beloved scruffy mountain man?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Okay. Well - here we are, at the end. Day 30 of the 30 Day Challenge. The final prompt - filled.
> 
> It's been amazing. I've had a _blast_ doing this thing, and I'm _so glad_ that other people have enjoyed this, too. Heck, this thing is also what brought me to realize that I was aromantic - yet another reason to be thankful.
> 
> I'm going to continue to write after this, although I'm not quite sure when, and I'm mostly sure none of it will be sexual or romantic fic (an example of the "mostly" being I revisit one of these prompts to flesh it out into a novel-length stand-alone). From here on out, I have my sights on platonic projects.
> 
> Before y'all read Day 30, I just wanna say that I have greatly enjoyed writing for this rare pair - and if a single person likes a single fic, then it was worth it.
> 
> **Some quick notes on Day 30:**
> 
> Having the last one be a Zombie Apocalypse AU presented a challenge, because whenever I see "Zombie Apocalypse AU" my brain immediately goes "ANGST." Because this is the last ever prompt, however, I wanted this to be relatively light-hearted and romantic, so - the prompt starts out angsty, but I gradually turn up the fluff dial, I promise.
> 
> Also, this fic is _heavily coded_ in the world of The Last of Us, because it's so rich and I love it so much, but I tried to write it to where people completely unfamiliar with it could follow along.

Two men walked through the abandoned streets of Atlanta, Georgia, a shotgun in one man's arms and an army knife in the other's hand. The city was rusted and crooked, falling to the onslaught of mother nature, its buildings slowly being strangled by the growth of moss and vines while weeds fractured and split the concrete and asphalt. A sapling was clawing its way up through the middle of an intersection, surrounded by the hollow gutted skeletons of ravaged cars.

One of the men was a middle-aged black man of average height, in a thin, ragged jacket and fraying jeans. His face was gaunt, and covered in wiry, graying hair. One of his arms was bandaged, and the other had knuckles that had finally scabbed over.

The other man was white, just on the dawn of his 30s, taller, in a long-sleeved shirt of red flannel, also in jeans. His left sleeve was pinned up to his shoulder, having nothing to fill it. Dark circles sat under his eyes, his hair hung heavily down to his shoulders, and a full, scruffy beard of brown hair covered his face.

The two of them heard the inhuman, clicking/croaking noises of an Infected coming from a side street. They both snuck behind an overturned bus and waited for the straggler to pass, silent.

_We'll meet on the top floor of the CDC building in Atlanta, Georgia. It'll be safe there._

That's what they said. That's what they agreed on. That it would be safe, that they would be welcomed, that _they_ would _be there_.

Half an hour later, the glass walls of the Center for Disease Control appeared in the distance.

The one with the knife tightened his grip and rasped, “Rhodey.”

The one with the shotgun resituated it into its slot alongside his pack and said, “All right, Bucky, this is it. You ready?”

Bucky met his gaze, sheathed his knife, and nodded. The two of them began running towards the building.

After a block, they reached the outer gate. They jumped up onto the hood of a dead military humvee and vaulted over the barbed-wire tipped fence, landed, rolled, and proceeded to sprint across the parking lot.

The two of them reached the glass sliding doors of the CDC building; Rhodey pried them open while Bucky scanned the deserted parking lot behind them. After a quick heave, they were in, darting across the dirty tile floors and towards the stairwell.

There were sixteen flights of stairs, and they ran up eight of them, doggedly walked six, and staggered up the last two. Rhodey tried the doorknob, and was met with a stubborn rattle. He heaved one breath, two, then wheezed, “Your knife.”

Bucky side-eyed him, then peered down the stairwell. Seeing nothing, he pulled out his switchblade from his pocket. He pushed it into Rhodey's hand, who flicked out the long, skinny blade and jimmied it into the lock. After a few rough twists, the lock clicked. Rhodey removed the knife and threw open the door.

“Tony!”

“Steve!”

The hallway didn't look promising. It was utterly dark, still, and silent; the only light illuminating the pale walls and floor was the setting sun streaming in through the glass outer walls, soon to be obscured by dark storm-clouds. Water stains spidered across the ceiling, dust and dead leaves slid across the floor from the wind coming in through a shattered pane of glass, and abandoned research papers were strewn across the floor.

Rhodey started murmuring, “No, no, no,” pushing Bucky's switchblade back into his hand before stumbling down the hallway. Bucky watched him go, expression shuttering, tucking his arm in and drawing into himself. He stepped into the hallway, pocketed his knife, closed and locked the door behind him, and started off in the other direction.

The two of them covered most of the floor, weaving in and out of rooms full of science equipment and half-finished tests and abandoned experiments, cabinets and drawers torn off their hinges and off their racks, journals laid open and forgotten. They pocketed every object of use – duct tape, scissors, rags, granola bars – and circled round until they met each other on the other side.

“Rhodey...” Bucky began quietly.

Rhodey was still looking around, half-frantic. “Maybe they're... maybe they're on a lower floor, maybe-”

“They said we would meet on the top floor of the-”

“They could be out gathering supplies!”

“Rhodey. All of the Infected we saw out there-”

“ _You don't know that!_ ”

“I'm not saying- they're- no. I'm just saying that- they're not. Here.”

“Shut up.”

“We were held up in Kentucky, maybe they got tired of waiting and moved on-”

“Let's search the building first-”

“They probably think we're dead-”

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Bucky drew himself up and held Rhodey's glare, but didn't speak.

Rhodey, to his credit, quickly felt his anger erode; his eyes darted away and down, and his posture sagged. “Shit, man. I'm... I'm sorry.”

Bucky still didn't say anything.

“I just... I'm so scared.”

Bucky let out a quiet sigh through his nose and gently grasped Rhodey's hand. “You're not the only one scared, here. You need to realize that.”

Rhodey gently squeezed it back. He let himself breath a moment, then looked up and gently said, “I also hope you know you haven't smiled _once_ since Kentucky.”

Bucky's gaze drifted away to the floor. He let go of his hand.

Rhodey bit his lip, then clapped him on the back and sighed, “I'm gonna go scout out the rest of the building. You can do whatever you want.”

With that, Rhodey walked down the hall back towards the stairwell door. Bucky heard it unlock, open, then close.

Everything went silent.

He turned and looked at the one remaining door that neither of them opened. It was made of thick, heavy metal, with no door-knob and only a dead, dusty key-pad to show it could be opened from the outside.

Bucky looked again at the dark, abandoned, electricity-barren floor. Before he could change his mind, he pulled out his army knife from its sheath and ran at the door, ramming it with his right shoulder. He bounced off of it with a low _whumf_.

“Damn fuckin'... Fail secure... Electromagnetic...” He shook it off, sheathed his knife, and started wandering the floor again, scanning the ceiling for any points that looked weak enough to breach while strong enough to hold his weight. He spotted two ventilation shafts that were big enough for guinea pigs. Eventually, he abandoned the idea of going through the ceiling, figuring that the room was probably reinforced on all sides, and started meticulously combing through the research papers on the floor.

The papers contained all sorts of things: some were full of graphs and tables, others detailed the biological makeup and DNA of Cordyceps, others were notes on its effects on rats, or genetic experimentation on slugs; some were personal notes, like, _“Alyssa, thanks so much for the butter!”_ or _“Did you hear about the riot that happened in. . .”_ or _“Penelope and Alyssa seem really happy lately.”_

One piece of paper in particular caught his eye: “ _Goddammit, Jace: HT CE DO IE OS EN IN EN TS RA IF EV WT PO UO DN._ ”

All of the sudden, the lights came on. Bucky jumped, then froze.

Light. Electricity.

The door.

The code.

_THE CODE IS ONE NINE STAR FIVE TWO POUND._

He sprinted over to the faintly-glowing keypad, punched in the code, pressed the green button, and listened as the electromagnetic door gave a gentle hiss and unsealed. He shouldered it open and staggered to a stop, dropping the slip of paper.

It was a safe-room. But not any safe-room that he had seen for the past ten years; it was a safe-room with a microwave, an electric stove, a refrigerator, a pantry, a dining table, two twin beds, a gun-cabinet, a working bathroom, and a gramophone sitting next to an overflowing box of records.

Bucky heavily swallowed, then looked over his shoulder. He didn't know how the electricity was turned on in the first place. Could it have been automatic? Was it Rhodey? Could it have possibly been Steve and Tony, or was it someone more malicious?

He removed his revolver from its holster. If it _was_ someone or someones malicious, Rhodey was in trouble.

He elbowed the button that made the door seal behind him and sprinted towards the stairwell.

–

Rhodey chuckled in awed wonder at the working lights.

The entire CDC building was lit up like a Christmas tree. Normally he'd think that was a bad thing, but as far as they could tell, the city of Atlanta was overrun with Infected, and Infected didn't give two shits about lights.

When they first ran into the building, Rhodey hadn't been paying attention to the solar panels installed along the roof and upper quarter of the building. Now, after having stumbled upon the electric management center on the third floor, he thought they were the most marvelous inventions in human history.

He hefted his bulging pack more firmly onto his shoulders, cradled the Yankee candle he found further into the crook of his arm, and set out in search of Bucky.

He found him three floors up – or, rather, Bucky found him ten floors down. Rhodey was just entering the stairwell as Bucky exploded into it from the floor above. Bucky aimed his revolver at his head, froze, blinked, then bounded down the stairs and crushed him into a tight embrace.

Rhodey freed his unoccupied arm to squeeze him back and prompted, “What's wrong?”

Bucky leaned back and ordered, “ _Where are they?_ ”

“Where's who?”

“The people who turned on the lights!”

“That was me!”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment. He began working his jaw, shut it, opened it again, and began, “You mean...”

A slow smile bloomed on Rhodey's face. “It's still just us. We're safe.”

Bucky blinked. “We're...”

“ _Safe._ ”

Bucky looked downright stupefied for a long moment, then shook his head, holstered his pistol, grabbed his hand, and said, “Follow me,” before hauling him up the stairs.

Back on the sixteenth floor, with their legs burning, Bucky led Rhodey around to the electromagnetic door before finally letting go of his hand. He stared at the keypad for a few seconds, then entered the code. The door unsealed with a hiss. He shoved it open, then turned around and beamed.

Rhodey slowly walked through the threshold, slack-jawed, staring at a room that was the closest echo of home he'd seen in the past decade.

Faintly, he pushed the Yankee candle into Bucky's arm. “I found a candle.”

Bucky looked down at it as Rhodey started blissfully wandering around the room. “Red Rose? How... romantic.”

Rhodey let his pack slide off his shoulders and gently onto the floor before venturing into the bathroom. As Bucky set the candle in the middle of the dining table, Rhodey shouted, “Hey, man! There's shaving supplies in here! And – _holy shit_ – toothbrushes! Toothpaste! Fucking _shampoo_!”

Bucky allowed himself to smile. “I _know!_ ” He pushed the door shut and listened to it seal as Rhodey exited the bathroom again, blank-faced.

Bucky squinted at him and tilted his head. “What?”

Rhodey slowly held up a piece of paper. Bucky hurried over to his side and sharply inhaled once he saw who it was addressed to. Rhodey began reading, numbly, “Dear Rhodey and Bucky... We've been here for a week, and there's still no sign of you. Steve has assumed the absolute worst but I told him to shut his trap and now I'm writing this letter.” He snorted, then became sober again. “We're moving on... Took all the ammo... We left a bunch of food and hygiene stuff for you... Treat yo selves...?” Rhodey made a face. “We have abandoned our search for FEDRA...” His eyes widened and his voice grew stronger. “We're going west to Colorado. You assholes take care, meet us there, that's an order, Tony and Steve.”

Rhodey set the letter on the counter. The two of them stood in a long stretch of silence before pulling each other in and holding the other while they processed the fact that it was extremely likely their best friends were _still alive_.

After a minute or so, Rhodey leaned back, cleared his throat, and prompted, “You want to, uh... You wanna clean up first?”

Bucky absently nodded, slung off his pack, set it down on the floor, and entered the bathroom. Rhodey, meanwhile, began organizing and assembling the items in his own pack, setting some aside for Bucky to pick up later.

Eventually, the bathroom door opened. Bucky walked out of the cloud of steam looking ten years younger, naked save for a small towel around his waist; the grime and dried sweat was gone, and for the first time since Rhodey'd met him, he was clean-shaven. Rhodey sat up to fully take in the view.

Bucky noticed, and took the opportunity to toss his hair, which flowed in a luscious curtain instead of being packed down into his usual greasy helmet. Rhodey wolf-whistled, and was promptly hit in the face with the towel.

“You go on and take your turn while I get dressed and poke around.”

Rhodey removed the towel and chucked it at Bucky before slipping into the bathroom himself. Bucky, meanwhile, slid on a clean pair of underwear and pulled out the cleanest outfit he had – faintly bloodstained jeans and a gray long-sleeved V-neck.

He padded over to the pantry and began rifling through the canned goods – chili, rice, beans, peaches, pineapple – and then he saw it.

“Oh my shit.”

He glanced quickly at the bathroom door, where he could faintly hear Rhodey singing some kind of tune. He quickly hunted down a pot, a ladle, and a jug of water.

When Rhodey came out of the bathroom, riding on a feeling of bliss that only being clean after a long time covered in grime could bring, he was met with the smell of...

“Oh my God is that _spaghetti and meatballs?_ ”

Bucky lifted the ladle to reveal the holy stringy pasta noodles. “I daresay, beautiful Sir, _who_ are you and _what_ have you done with my beloved scruffy mountain man?”

Rhodey had walked out looking twenty years younger, having scrubbed every last speck of dust off his skin, and having completely shaved his entire head – from his wiry mesh of a beard to his full head of hair. With them gone, all the more attention could be devoted to his thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and strong jawline – along with, of course, his smooth, toned muscles.

“Beloved scruffy mountain man?” Rhodey prompted with a cocky smile, making a show of bending down to extract his clothes from his pack.

“The whole rugged look was _endearing_ ,” Bucky drawled, then turned off the heat and set a large bowl down on the counter. He sneaked a peek at Rhodey getting dressed, and chuckled when he saw him putting on cargo pants and a pink polo.

“Uh-huh, laugh it up, Mr. I-wear-graphic-wolf-T-shirts-”

Bucky snapped him with the dish-rag and Rhodey leaped into his seat on one side of the table. As Bucky started scooping one spoonful of spaghetti at a time into the bowl, Rhodey pulled out his lighter, popped the top off the Yankee candle, and lit it.

Bucky smiled over his shoulder. “We having a romantic night in?”

Rhodey stood up again and slowly sauntered up to Bucky's side, sensually humming _Bella Notte_ from Lady and the Tramp. A bubble of laughter escaped from Bucky's throat. When Rhodey reached him, he plastered himself against Bucky's back and started swaying to the tune. Bucky swayed with him, and didn't say a word about Rhodey reaching around to steady the pot, which had been sliding slowly across the stove with each scoop from Bucky without anything to stop it.

When all the spaghetti was in the bowl, Rhodey picked it up and carried it to the table while Bucky grabbed two forks. They sat themselves down, grabbed their fork, and dug in with single-minded gusto.

After a while of nothing but the sound of metal-against-ceramic, chewing, and the occasional pleased moan, Rhodey prompted, “You wanna try doing that thing from Lady and the Tramp?”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh _c'mon_ , just for shits and giggles, c'mon-”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiled, and acquiesced, using his fork to pick up the other end of a long strand that Rhodey picked up. They both started in on their end and slowly started their way forwards when the noodle broke in the middle. Bucky dived forward to catch it and ended up head-butting Rhodey in the nose.

Bucky sat back in his chair, abandoning his fork to cover his mouth in mortified horror. Rhodey, who was clutching his nose, took one look at him and busted out laughing.

“Oh, _shut_ up, you _ass_ -”

“You heb-bubbed be in da _dose_!”

The dam broke on Bucky's end, and the room was filled with laughter.

–

Eventually, they both finished the bowl and sat back in their chairs, holding their stomachs and savoring the sensation of being full. Bucky heaved a contented sigh, then slowly got up and padded over to the gramophone and its box of records.

Rhodey looked over from where he was putting the dishes in the sink. “What you doing over there?”

Bucky set the needle on a record and stepped back as the opening chords of _Moonlight Serenade_ began to play. Rhodey turned to face him, and Bucky held out his hand with a flourish. “May I have this dance?”

Rhodey slowly smirked. “Why, yes. You may.”

He stepped forward, placed his hand in Bucky's, and allowed himself to be pulled in. Rhodey placed his free hand on Bucky's waist, and they began to sway in slow circles, dancing barefoot around the room. The moment their eyes met, they grinned at each other, enjoying the moment of being able to dance to actual music, warm, clean, and with full stomachs for the first time in... a long while.

About three-quarters of the way though the song, their grins melted into quiet smiles. Bucky slowly inhaled, then leaned forward and kissed him. Their dancing slowed to a stop as they closed their eyes and savored it. Eventually, they broke the kiss and resumed dancing, Rhodey resting his head on Bucky's shoulder and pressing a gentle kiss against it. Bucky's eyelids drooped as he rested his head against Rhodey's.

There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they would leave that heavenly place tomorrow. There was too much at stake, too much risk to stay, and Steve and Tony were still out there, waiting on them. But for the moment... for the moment-

For the moment, in that reinforced safe-room inside the decaying CDC building in an overrun city, with Infected lurking in the streets sixteen stories below, listening to Glenn Miller's band croon from a gramophone, they could pretend that everything was normal, that they never had to hurt anyone, that they'd never be hurt, that everything would be okay.

For the moment – they could love each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Moonlight Serenade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_X8sz_wgrSc)
> 
> And, finally, [a little something for beating the Challenge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2W1Wi2U9sQ).


End file.
